When I was 18, I celebrated my birthday rather sombrely. My father had died just over a month ago, my twelve-standard exams were looming within weeks. It was a time of change and expectation, of determination to prove myself and a great big lump of sadness that Baba would never again see my birthdays.
When I was 28, I celebrated my birthday with a lot of trepidation. I was pregnant with my first daughter, the delivery was due in May, and I realised that the next birthdays would never be the same again after the life-changing event of motherhood. There was a a kind of desperate gaiety, a clinging to the joys of the carefree pre-motherhood-dom.
Now that I have just celebrated my 38th birthday, I really feel thankful that I am so so busy. And that all I have lost over the last one year was a few kilos of weight. And what I have gained is a new confidence, a lot of work, and a lot of good friends. God keep me busy, happy - and slim - down the next few decades!