The Secret Language of Birthdays has been failing me. The inspiration is just not there. Yes, that’s it. It’s all the book’s fault.

The birthday book on the day after my birthday feels sad—it’s not relevant anymore. The pregnancy is over, the birth happened, and now it’s just life.

Back in January, I created a code system to track my moods—1 to 7, good to bad. At first I used colors—yellow to black—but then I changed those colors to more descriptive metaphors: 1 is the early morning sun billowing through curtains (that’s good) and 7 is a loved one walks away (that’s bad).

In my code, a 5—the feeling on the bad side of meh—is “the day after my birthday: disappointing for the echo of what it is not.” Since my birthday falls around a holiday, I tend to get a redo— a family celebration with cake on Memorial Day. My son, who has an unfortunate post-Christmas/early January birthday, told me that is unfair. He says that I said that after your birthday, your birthday no longer counts.

I’m not sure I said that exactly, but I can see why he thinks I did. When his birthday is over, it’s definitely over—the holidays are done and everyone’s exhausted. We just need to get through this one last birthday. Even though mine kind of keeps going, it’s just a disappointing echo—a reminder of a day that no longer is—an attempt to be something it is not.

With four days to go in birthday month, I’m kind of tired of keeping up the conceit. I’m done with birthdaying. It’s time to live.