Overall my birthday was great. I find that the lower my expectations the better the day. The part of my birthday that sucked? My wife was an exhausted, coming-down-with-a-cold, pathetic, pregnant heap. And you know what? I felt more sorry for me. Yes I did. It was my birthday, and though she put up a valiant effort, she just wasn’t there. She got off work at 2pm, but looked so pathetic when she got home that I said we could take a nap together. She cried. We slept. Then she sat on the couch looking pitiful while I took care of LM at our friend’s house for dinner. Yesterday, I wanted to be taken care of. Being the kind of person I am, I’m insisting on a make up day. Call me selfish, but I just want to be taken care of for one freaking day. It is totally not her fault (it is the fetus’s fault and I’m rooting for that little fucker so I can’t really be mad about it), but I still want a make up day where she makes me some breakfast and is at least slightly perky.
But that is not why I feel gross.
There are REASONS why people are usually given a portion of prime rib at a restaurant. They do not wheel out a 3 bone hunk and let you have at. No. No they don’t. But my best friend did. Plus she made garlic bread, smashed potatoes and a small bowl of green beans so we could ‘balance’ out the meal. After eating a truly appalling quantity of prime rib, and a ridiculous heap of carbs topped with 3 green beans, I had cake. Well, cakes. As in chocolate with ganache and whipped cream, and carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. So I feel totally nasty. And yes, it is entirely my fault.