Another year older,

.. another year wiser childless.

Remember when you were a kid, and all year long there were 4 things you waited for; longed for in fact:

1. Christmas (duh! no explanation needed here.)
2. Spring Break (family vacation, time off with your sibblings and mum, day trips around the province)
3. Summer Vacation (duh! no explanation needed here.)
4. Your Birthday (PAR-TAY! GIFTS! CAKE! The one day of the year you were allowed pop!)

And then in your teens your birthday celebration consisted of slumber parties, bowling alleys and scary movies with friends.

In your twenties, you were getting hammered. Your birthday was just an excuse to get even more so.

Then your thirties hit. And for most women 'celebrating' birthdays, by now you're well established in a home, married or in a relationship, and may very well be getting breakfast in bed consisting of congealed eggs, cold toast and lumpy pancakes - all made with love by your little one(s).

Not me.

I now dread birthdays. Literally. Now, instead of an annual celebration of what I've accomplished in the previous year, and of things I should be proud of, now? Now it's just another reminder of a year gone by without being pregnant. Without experiencing childbirth. Of fertility clinics and procedures and geneticists and appointments. Of feeling like a science experiment. Another reminder that after over 3 years of trying, we're still no farther ahead - despite everything we've been through. A reminder that the naitivity of trying to conceive a child was squashed years ago. That instead of being wealthier as we age, we'll be poorer.

That's what a birthday means to me.