It is my birthday today. I am now 34. I am not particularly thrilled about this, because once you’ve reached the 30-mark, it feels like there are a whole bunch of restrictions on what you should and shouldn’t be doing or wearing. I frequently violate the ‘rules’ (still sporting piercings and wearing questionable fashions) that the media are forever instilling in us. Don’t believe me? Take a read of one of these delightful, body-shaming, sexist posts as examples:
But anyway, maybe with my increasing maturity is my decreasing amount of care about how supposedly inappropriate my fashion sense is. This could mean that by the time I’m 80, I’ll be sporting bright pink hair and wearing crop tops, and at 80, I hope I care even less!
But I digress. It is my birthday, and although I felt compelled to write about it, I was at a bit of a loss about what exactly to cover in this post. I’m not going to be doing anything particularly radical to mark my birthday, nor is it a significant birthday.
So I thought I would look back at what was going on in the year I was born (1981), and was amused to stumble upon the site Poke My Birthday. The site hilariously tells me that although I may think my life began on Thursday 19th February 1981, it actually began a good bit earlier than this. Mum and dad will be thrilled at the next bit of information.
On the 15th April 1980, my dad apparently produced the semen that would have become half of me. Interestingly, if he had drunk more or less caffeine than he did that day (I don’t know which), I could have easily been a boy.
On the 30th April 1980, mum had her final menstrual cycle before building up the egg that became me. According to the Poke My Birthday folks, mum spent that day being incredibly moody, anxious and short-tempered.
On the 15th May 1980, mum and dad got very friendly indeed (*snigger*).
On the 16th May 1980, one of those sperms that dad made on the 15th April completed it’s epic journey to mum’s ‘Fiona’ egg and tapped on the door. I am one cell old today!
On the 30th May 1980, mum may have suspected she was pregnant.
On the 6th June 1980, mum told dad that she was pregnant. This day was also the day that my heart pumped for the very first time. Wow. Genuinely.
21st August 1980 was the last day that mum and dad could have chosen to abort me. Phew!
And the rest is history!
To change the subject slightly, I am aware that my birthday this year coincides with Chinese New Year, and you’ll be fascinated to know that I was born in the year of the rooster. This is quite ironic, considering my name is now Chick.
Anyway, that is all I am going to write on my birthday (today). There may be more, depending on what I get up to over the weekend. Mum and dad, if you’re still cringing at this post, then all you need to do is look up Finley and Fraser’s dates of birth on Poke my Birthday to have a laugh at Ian and I!