Birthday parties: are they always necessary?

My partner is about to celebrate a birthday, the first milestone birthday of our relationship. I don’t wish to violate his privacy by sharing how old he is, so let’s just say that I only turned 50, five short years ago, and he is way, way older (over four years older!) than me. And as his big day approaches, my head has been swirling with party themes, guest lists, gift ideas and the extremely touching speech I will give at the festivities.

Alas, these plans remain in my imagination because it is his special day, and he gets to choose how he will celebrate. And the way he wishes to celebrate is by doing … nothing. Seriously. Nothing. The man doesn’t get excited about birthdays.

It is baffling to me. How can he not want a party? Perhaps it’s because he’s so very old? But my dad just had a milestone birthday and even he had a celebration! Is it possible that my partner just hates fun?

Birthdays have always been important to me. All milestones are! Life is short, and it can be challenging at best and intensely difficult at worst, and I believe we should celebrate the good stuff whenever we can.

I love a celebration! I get emotional during weddings, despite being deeply ambivalent about the institution of marriage. I cry during speeches at parties, even when I don’t know the person who is being spoken about. I get goosebumps at graduation ceremonies, and will applaud almost as loudly for other people’s children as I do my own. I am the type of selfless person who gains great pleasure from other people’s joy.

I want cards and I want gifts and I want a carrot cupcake with cream-cheese icing and I want a nap in the afternoon.

KERRI SACKVILLE

Except … not that selfless. Because – rather less altruistically – I’m also the type of person who wants attention on my special day. My birthday still feels like a really big deal, even after all these years. After all, Mother’s Day is a commercial construct, Valentine’s Day is just silly, and holidays are for everyone to share, but my birthday is the one day of the year that truly belongs to me (oh, and to Eminem, and to Rhys Muldoon, and to millions of other people, but to nobody else in my immediate circle).

I want to be celebrated on my birthday, at least by my loved ones. I want cards and I want gifts and I want a carrot cupcake with cream-cheese icing and I want a nap in the afternoon and I don’t want to cook or clean or work.

A day of unadulterated leisure isn’t always possible, but I have had some special birthday moments over the years. There was the party in 2003 when I wore a tiny skirt, and we danced in my lounge room for hours. There was the picnic lunch with my closest friends in 2021, when we were just emerging from lockdown and it was so exciting to be together again. There was the dinner at my mum’s where she offered me an entire bowl of icing to eat with a spoon because icing is my favourite thing in the world. There were the annual breakfasts in bed served by my kids, their beaming faces more than compensating for the stone-cold toast and terrible coffee.