Birthdays, Bingo, and What Feels Like Enough

April is my birthday month.

April 27th, I’ll be 48.

I had to do the math on that the other day—1978 to 2026—and yes, I used a calculator—and for a second I was like… wait, am I really? Because I don’t feel 48. But also… I kind of do.

It got me thinking about what birthdays used to feel like.

They were simple. School birthdays were a thing—something homemade brought to share. Cupcakes in plastic containers, cookies on paper plates. Maybe a little extra time at recess. A balloon tied to your chair. It felt special without being a whole production.

At home, it was decorations and gifts in the kitchen when you woke up—streamers taped up, maybe a banner slightly crooked. A special “birthday breakfast.” Getting to pick dinner. Every once in a while, a party. But mostly just small things that felt like enough.

Some birthdays stand out more than others.

My 18th birthday was a “surprise” party. Cate kept me distracted with a joint (or two) and a drive, and I had that faint feeling like… are they throwing me a party? But I went along with it—only to arrive completely stoned, trying to pretend I wasn’t as everyone yelled “surprise!”

There was a DJ, that Peaches song was playing, and Jason was there—which felt like a really big deal at the time because I had the biggest crush on him …… even though he was always into my sister. I remember the picture we all tookI can still see it—smiles, arms over shoulders, taken from the back balcony.

And I remember just… dancing. Not because I wanted to, but because it felt like I needed to. Like everyone had put all this effort into it and I needed to look like I was having the time of my life. I kept thinking—when can I sit down? I’m hungry.

My 21st birthday looked completely different. I was working a graveyard shift, training on my first police radio. And I got flowers. Delivered. My mom never sent flowers. This was a big deal.

After my shift, I went straight to Las Vegas and bungee jumped off the side of a building.

Birthdays also come with their own little perks.

A free coffee drink.
A free dessert.
A bingo game at the casino.

Things that somehow feel both ridiculous and… kind of special.

My 40th… now, that one was a whole situation.

A full flamingo theme—because at some point growing up, my parents adopted a flamingo for me from the Sacramento Zoo. Naturally, that stuck. I’m pretty sure I still have the certificate somewhere.

My mom and my sisters went all out. My friends too. Everyone played a part. Special towels, beaches, tan lines, food, cake —this was not a casual birthday. And honestly… as amazing as all of that was, I just remember being so happy that Jamie made it. That was the thing that mattered most.

At one point we were all singing Out of Africa like a full band, complete with air instruments. Full commitment. All of us. Completely ridiculous. Completely perfect.

As a mom, birthdays look different.

Packing up treats for Lincoln’s class. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever he wanted that year. Dropping them off at school. Hanging the “Happy Birthday” banner in the kitchen so he’d see it when he woke up. Streamers. Planning the parties, the details, trying to make it feel special for him in the same way it had for me.

The gaming trailer. Friends running through the house. Family showing up.

December birthdays are hard.

Cold weather. Holidays right around the corner.

And he was born twenty minutes into his dad’s birthday.

A blessing? A curse?

Is it his day… or shared?

I try not to think about it.

I wonder if he feels special on his birthdays.

Now it’s—let’s go out for pizza.

He’ll be 20 this year.

Twenty.

Birthdays used to feel like events. Like something you planned around, built up to, recovered from.

Now they feel more like a quiet check-in.

Dinner with a friend sounds perfect. Something small. Intimate. No big production.

Ryan was someone I loved for a few birthdays.

He was a birthday guy. It always had to be something. Plans. Dinner. Cake. Candles. The whole thing.

And I remember finally saying… can we just order in and watch a movie?

And he would, but I don’t think that was really his way.

Ryan passed away suddenly—he had just turned 52.

Now I think about that sometimes.

Maybe I should have let him celebrate me more.

Maybe I should have celebrated him more.

Maybe he understood something about time.

Or maybe… he knew he wouldn’t have that many more to celebrate.

April feels like that for me now.

A little reflective. A little quiet. A little “is this where I thought I’d be?”

And as I’m sitting here writing this, it’s raining.

And I’m on my couch.

With my free coffee and Crumbl cookie.

And a bingo date with Jamie… just for my birthday.

And that feels like enough.