Post-Birthday Depression

I knew today would be a bad day. I wonder if that is a self-fulfilling prophecy? I mean, if you think a day is going to be bad, does that mean that karmically you are making your day bad? I’ve been reading this interesting book called “How Yoga Works” and it talks about sowing seeds, positive and negative, and I can’t help but think that if I believe a day is going to be bad, then it will be bad.

It’s all my fault anyway. I was talking to a friend on Monday and I said that I couldn’t believe how well Jake was doing with all this birthday attention. He had been looking forward to his own birthday for about seven months, and I thought with all the buildup there would be a major letdown. That hasn’t happened, I said happily to my friend, I keep waiting for the ball to drop. And let me tell you, people, the freaking ball has dropped. It dropped hard. It dropped so hard it left a big, smoking hole in the ground and all that is left is me, wondering when I will learn not to bring curses upon myself.

Last night there was the post-birthday meltdown and ensuing sadness “I don’t want it to not be my birthday!” that kept Jake up an hour past his normal bedtime, which is highly unusual for him, being the type of kid who falls asleep seconds after going to bed. Needless to say, he was pretty tired today, and started to cry when I left him at school. It’s so heartbreaking to watch a four-year-old stoically wiping away silent tears, walking in his lineup with his giant backpack on. I felt totally deflated, despite knowing that after I left, he would be just fine. And he was, but the rest of the day was one big roller coaster of emotions. It’s hard to blame the kid: he’s exhausted after all, plus he has post-birthday depression. After four days of various celebrations, one is bound to succumb to the doldrums.

But the celebrations were great, especially the one that included eight small kids and a clown. If you live in the Calgary area, I would really recommend Button the Clown – she was very entertaining for that age group, and not at all creepy. Just make sure you call her Button, not Buttons. When I called to confirm, I got her husband (and I’m not making this up) Buddy the Clown on the phone. He tersely said, “Her name is Button. She is not plural.” Oh, snap! When I related this conversation to a friend, she said, “Button the Clown is married to Buddy the Clown? I wonder if they have clown babies.” And I will confess that the image that immediately popped into my head was so incredibly disturbing that I had to question my own mental stability. Again.

Anyway, I’m going for an early bedtime tonight and I’m going to sow the seeds of positive thoughts for a better day tomorrow. Repeat after me, it’s going to be a good day….