It's my birthday next week. I know this specifically because I've spent my life being excited come late September, often figuring out how many days I have left until I turn another year older.
Unfortunately, birthdays just ain't what they used to be.
Right up into my early 20s, I remember spending my entire birthday exhilarated. You feel really, genuinely special on that day. There are gifts. Messages of love from friends. A card in the mail from the grandparents with a $20 note in it. Maybe even a party!
Adult birthdays have proven less exciting. Nobody throws a party for you. You do get messages from friends, but only because Facebook basically forces them to. You probably get one gift from your boyfriend, girlfriend, or spouse, but gifts from mum or dad tapered off a while ago.
And why shouldn't they? Parents don't need to be giving their grown kids presents. This may sound Grinch-like, but I remain unconvinced in my adulthood that birthdays need celebration at all (except for the fact that if nobody acknowledges yours, you'll spend the day terribly depressed).