It’s not my party, but I’ll cry if I want to

So here I am again. Tomorrow is another birthday and it put me in my mind of a post I wrote exactly a year ago today. This still feels so relevant. Just two days ago someone I have known for years said to me, ‘I know this is terribly personal, but what happened to Boo? I know it’s more than prematurity but I haven’t wanted to ask.’ Talking about Boo doesn’t make me sad, but seeing people’s expressions as I do does. Let’s hope by next birthday there’s no more crying to be done.


Tomorrow is my birthday. But I’m pretending it’s not. Not because I am in denial about being 37. But, you know, really, how did I get to be 37? No: it’s because I can’t celebrate it at home. From Thursday through Saturday I am at a big work event I have co-organised over the last 18 months. Sissyboo takes birthdays VERY seriously and will be beyond cross that Mummy is away for hers. So we’re pretending it’s on Sunday.

Instead of presents, cake and a glass of bubbly, tomorrow, I will have my professional hat on, trying to be clever with 220 other people from all over the UK, Europe, North America and Australia. 220 people. I know over 190 of them and would call well over a hundred good friends. Many are friends of mine on Facebook and rallied around us in ways that are making me well up…

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