You Say It's Your Birthday

Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to crazy Kiki. Happy birthday to me.

So today was my birthday. It’s not a national holiday, but it is somewhat special to me. I guess guilt must have consumed J-Fed because he got me a card. Actually, he got me two. One from him and one from the girls. It even had $100 in it. Can you say blood money?

He actually gave them to me on Saturday night. I think it was because he had something bigger and better planned for the actual day. In the card, he told me to enjoy my special day. How thoughtful of him. And then he wrote on the side that this card entitled me to one free day with no kids.

Can you believe it? I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. HE was going to give ME one whole day with no kids. He had obviously gone above and beyond. I don’t know how he thought of something so incredibly generous on his own. I mean, that was like giving the Pope a year’s supply of wine and wafers.

Do you know the kind of man who gives his estranged wife a raincheck for one whole day without the kids for her birthday? Oh, I do. I know him far too well. It’s the man who doesn’t realize that he should be giving his estranged wife a day with no kids a few times a week.

To cut the Fedster a small break for one brief moment, it was a very nice gesture, especially when you take into consideration that for his birthday I kicked him out of the house for pissing in the armoire. Yes, that was on his birthday. But bad behavior has its consequences no matter what day of the year it is.

It’s like if you go into a bank with a ski mask and demand that the teller give you one thousand dollars in small bills. As you’re fleeing the scene of the crime, you’re nabbed by one of those rent-a-cops. The police come arrest you, but you plead “it’s my birthday.” They really don’t give a crap. They’re taking you to jail regardless. Don’t pass go, don’t collect $200, especially since you already stole a grand.

While his actions weren’t that culpable, he did do the wrong thing one too many times, and blowing $500 at a bar, pissing in the armoire and screwing up royally cost him big time. I mean, I’m sorry he spent his birthday in some lousy hotel, but he deserved it… birthday or no birthday.

Anyway, I was just waiting for my comeuppance. I knew he would do something to make my birthday memorable because J-Fed is nothing if not vindictive. As the days before my birthday approached, I mentally prepared myself. Would he put in his daily appearance and maybe take a dump on the couch that he kept reminding me was “half his?” Would he pick up a bartender, videotape himself having wild sex with her and mail it to me in a gift-wrapped box? Would he go take out one of the desperate housewives’ trash, walk her dog and carry in her groceries for me to see? The possibilities were endless.

I felt myself filling up with nervous anticipation as the day neared. And then it was here. First thing this morning, he called. I was in the middle of one thousand things that included feeding his cat, changing the baby’s diaper, letting the dogs out to go to the bathroom, preparing our 5-year-old her breakfast, booting up my computer for work and whatever else I could juggle in between… all while he was kicked back and relaxed at his humble abode up the road.

“I’m busy. I’ll have to call you back,” I told him. It was my birthday, and it was obvious that no one would be serving me breakfast in bed or doing anything to make the day any less hectic. Before he could say another word, I hung up. Maybe I was secretly afraid that he would make a sneak attack on the phone. The words that came out of J-Fed’s mouth could be every bit as painful as his actions. See every blog from the last four months for further explanation.

About four hours went by before the phone rang again. It was him. I had 12 hours to get through the day unscathed without him making it an unhappy birthday. My gut told me it wasn’t going to happen..

“Hey. You still busy?” I looked down at the baby who had stopped crying for maybe five minutes for the first time today. Me? Busy? Nevvvvvvvvvverrrrrrrrrrr.

“I’ve got a minute. What’s up? I said.

“I just wanted to say happy birthday. You hung up so quick this morning. I didn’t get a chance to tell you,” he said genuinely.

Thanks J-Fed. You know what would make it a happy birthday? If you got your ass over to the house and helped me for a little while. Do you know why? Because the baby is teething and she’s miserable. It’s not because she has gas. It’s not from anything I’m feeding her. It’s not because she’s spoiled. And it’s not because she misses her daddy. It’s because she’s six months old, putting everything in her mouth that doesn’t have a pulse and drooling wildly. That’s what they call teething.

“I’m sorry. I’ve really had my hands full today. I’ve been working my butt off and the baby is really, really fussy. Her mouth hurts. I called the pediatrician, and they said she’s most likely teething,” I told him.

“Oh, they told you this over the phone. So really they don’t know that she’s teething. They’re just assuming that she’s teething. Well, daughter one didn’t get her first tooth until she was a year and I’m betting daughter two will be the same. I don’t think she’s teething,” he said bluntly.

Suddenly, my blood began to boil. I thought of the many nights I had spent with her wide awake, clawing at her mouth in tears. I thought of the spittle of drool constantly running down her chin. I thought of the way she’s gnawing at her hands every chance she gets. I thought of the way she tried to put the dogs ear in her mouth the other day. Teething? No way. I must be insane. Get out the straightjacket because Kiki has gone cuckoo.

“She’s teething, damnit. I have to go now. She’s crying for the zillionth time today for absolutely no reason since she is apparently NOT TEETHING, Dr. Spock,” I yelled before hanging up.

If a tree falls in the forest and nobody is around to see it, does the tree still fall? Of course, it does. In other words if the baby is teething and you’re not around to live through it, don’t tell me she’s not teething just to ease your itsy bitsy, teeny weeny little conscious, you soulless bastard.

In a nutshell, that was J-Fed’s big birthday present to me. Oh, there was that one whole day without the kids that he promised. But obviously it wasn’t going to be today. Oh no, why would I want to relax on my birthday?

I’m sure J-Fed will eventually fulfill his pledge to take the kids for “one whole day.” Unfortunately, I’ll probably have to be dead for him to ever make good on it.

Happy birthday Kiki and many more.