Baby Number Four was due any day. Any day during Mid-December, 2004. The expectant father is a friend of mine, who happens to be one of the nicest and funniest guys I know, Tim Bete. It came as no surprise to me, a December Birthday Baby, when Tim’s unborn child had the stork deliver this letter prior to her birth.
Dear Mom and Dad,
As an infamous December Birthday Baby, there are important things I want you to know.
Please be prepared when big people ask me, “How do you like having a birthday two weeks before Christmas?” No matter how well you raise me — no matter how you sigh and bang your head against the wall to instill good social manners into me, I still might sulk and answer, “It stinks.”
“Oh but why?” they'll gush. “I think it'd be so special!
Special? Picture this: I'm seven years old and my best friend's birthday is in April. You send me to her party with a gift wrapped in Christmas paper. In April. You think those moms aren’t going to talk? The gift is a Christmas tree ornament. Now the moms are definitely talking. My friend is crying and all the kids are giving me dirty looks. No one thinks anything special about my wrapping paper, my gift, or me.
Rule #1 for giving birthday gifts to December Babies: Never use Christmas paper.
For my fellow December Babies born closer to Christmas, there are further implications. Their birthday falls over school break, so they won’t get to take cupcakes to classmates, wear the Birthday Crown or be Line Leader. If their parents can manage a party during the holiday hoopla, it will be small. All their friends have already left for Detroit to see Grandma. Even the most well-meaning friends and relatives forget December birthdays. And if they remember, they’re out shopping, out of town, and out of money.
For a child with a December birthday, there won’t be enough holidays. I'll get all my gifts at one time during the year. That’s it. Then, without fail (because I'm a kid, remember) March, April, May, and June will roll around and there will be something I'm just dying to have. A new toy, a bike, a set of Clairol brown fleece wrapped gentle steam hot rollers. So when I ask, please don't tell me, “That’s for a special occasion. Like your birthday.” Or, “Remember that when you write your list to Santa.” Eleven months between gift-getting is an eternity for a child.
One more thing please: My fellow unborn baby friends who are due the first week of January want you to get the word out; they’ll have it just as bad. They’re afraid their birthdays will get glossed over because the grown-ups will be exhausted, hung-over, broke, and depressed from eating too many cookies. And they don’t want leftover Christmas wrapping paper either.
Come December, when you cradle me in your arms for the first time, gaze into my adorable face and promise me you'll always make my birthday a special day of its own. Let me wear the Birthday Crown.
Love,
Baby Number Four
Karen Rinehart, who’s real birthday is December 22, is a newspaper humor columnist, public speaker, and the creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. She is also author of Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life. You can read more of her work at karenrinehart.net. Karen lives in Concord, North Carolina with her two kids, one husband and goofball dog, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dog at home.) She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan and England.
