To be Born

“I don’t think I will celebrate my birthday this year,” she said, placing her tiny hands on her waist and pursing her lips. “Why? Don’t you like birthdays?”

I laughed loudly to her panic.

“Oh no, Logan, it’s not my choice” I replied with a smile. She looked puzzled.

“The date is not on the calendar this year.”

“What do you mean?” Logan’s voice betrayed her confusion.

“It’s true, Logan.”

Then her eyebrows furrowed slightly. She looked even prettier in her purple dress, with her dimple peeking out beneath her rosy cheek. She shook her head vigorously, causing her two ponytails to sway from side to side in protest.

I sat the five-year-old on my lap, retrieved my phone, and handed it to her.

“Okay, let’s check right now,” I said, as she nodded in agreement. Her ponytails bounced with her head movements as I tapped on the calendar icon.

“Look for the 29th of February,” I instructed.

She placed the phone on her lap, extended her hands, and began reciting aloud, “January, February, Mar… Mar.”

I allowed her to finish the words, finding her stammering endearing.

“February, Number 2!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, Logan,” I replied enthusiastically as she held up two fingers. She was eager to search for the second month.

She began counting from one, and I patiently waited as she went through the numbers.

 Her stammer became more pronounced as she reached the numbers with five, but she persevered. Suddenly, after twenty-eight, she touched the next number, and it was one, the 1st of March.

She appeared visibly upset.

“Where is it?” Logan demanded.

She started counting again, hoping she had made a mistake. When the same thing occurred once more, she was clearly distressed.

“It’s called a leap year; it will happen again in four years,” I explained.

“I will talk to my mom so that she can arrange for you to celebrate your birthday with me,” she offered.

I declined, feeling it was unnecessary.

She quickly broke free from my grasp, making her way through the crowd of friends and kindergarten teachers eagerly awaiting the ice cream cake they had been promised.

I saw my sister peeking out from the kitchen. The little one had made her announcement.

It wasn’t anything major, but when the four-tier ice cream cake was placed on the table and everyone was eagerly waiting for Logan to blow out her candles, she made her demands. She insisted that she would only cut the cake if I shared the same birthday as her.

Laughter filled the room.

Despite her tears, screams, and tantrum on the floor, I quickly agreed.

And that’s how I ended up celebrating two birthdays every four years.