No more talking about being 40. OK, maybe just a few words

I woke up to a small voice in the other room.

"Mommy, may I get up? Happy birthday!" 

He rushed in as soon as I said yes, the gift bag in his hand rustling. He snuck under the covers and got close.

"I'm sorry I wouldn't admit I made a mistake," he was referring to a meltdown he'd had the night before. It was emotional and exhausting and I told him there wouldn't be birthday celebrations unless he was able to apologize. I'd been worried for hours after he finally fell asleep I'd have to stand my ground. Stubborn feels even worse on birthdays. For both of us. I sighed deeply.

"Now will you open your presents?!"

"YES!" I squealed it. I couldn't help it. He is a wonderful, thoughtful gift-giver -- opinionated and careful about his choices and keeping them a well-guarded surprise.

I lingered over the card but he was anxious for me to open each gift wrapped in white tissue paper. A floral scarf ('you've been wearing scarves a lot lately and daddy and I noticed"), pink and purple earrings ("dangly, like you like them"), pink and purple wooden bangles ("you can wear them like a bracelet sandwich!") and purple sunglasses ("fancy like you!"). 

I squealed more. He often chooses pink and purple gifts for me. 

"Will you wear them today?" he asked. He seemed tentative.

"OF COURSE!" And I showed them all off during my photo shoot on our way to a breakfast date.

He adjusted the tiara on my head, leaned in close and whispered, "I can see your halo."

I would have teared up but then he laughed. He was making a pop song joke more than a compliment. But I took it as both.

After breakfast, we went to parent-teacher conferences and looked through book after book of class photos and his stories and the pages of his research notebook. There was a birthday song from my brother and happy wishes from my nephew ("Love. You. Aunt. Jessie. Hap. Birday. Aunt. Jessie."). I beamed even brighter.

My next wish was to paint pottery. I didn't take a single photo because we were each so intent on the details of our piece. He painted a gnome figurine ("to stand next to the laughing Buddha I painted last time") and I made a mug with our mugs drawn on == his, mine, and the Not Boyfriend's. 

And then it was time for dinner. No arguments about dressing in church clothes, no fussing about what might be on the menu that he'd want to eat. Just confidence that it would be great because "all day has been so fun, so dinner will have to be fun, too!"

I chose Le Bouchon, a recommendation of the Not Boyfriend's and a perfect, cozy little spot to sit in the sunlight with my parents over an early dinner of Wagyu steaks with a rich cognac peppercorn sauce and a cocktail with St. Germain (my new favorite) and creme brulee (my old favorite) and chocolate mousse for dessert.

There were lovely and generous gifts and it all ended too soon when it was time for Lil E to go to his dad's house for the night. He kissed me goodbye and I dialed up the Not Boyfriend on Skype.

He's nearer in miles while he's in a specialization training for the National Guard for four months, but his schedule and phone reception and the rigorousness of this temporary life makes it feel like he's in a different country altogether. I ached to see his smile at the end of my big day and when I did, it made it all settle in.

He'd sent an astounding gift in a delightful card days before. What was inside each will stay between us but the outside...well, I think he should stick around for this decade. Perhaps longer. Yes, definitely longer.

Nothing magical needed to happen. Unless you count that light radiating from deep within, just to be with all my loves, just to breathe easy and enjoy so many good things. Even the apology and achy parts felt OK. I have a long, long time to iron all of that out and lots of pink and purple to wear while we do it.