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No party this year. Just us, a cake from the bakery down the street, and handmade cards that made me cry harder than any Instagram post ever could. Sophie drew me as a superhero (cape and stethoscope included). Theo’s card has seventeen dinosaurs and says “HAPPY BRITHDAY MOM” in purple crayon. Marcus gave me a necklace that’s perfect and simple and exactly what I would have picked for myself.

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Thirty-two feels different than I thought it would. Six months ago I was worried about getting older, about crow’s feet and gray hairs and whether I’d still feel young. Then the world stopped and I spent months holding strangers’ hands through the worst moments of their lives. I came home every night to my people. I’m still here. We’re all still here.

That’s the only gift that matters.

The cake was chocolate. Theo got frosting on his dinosaur shirt. Biscuit tried to eat the candles. Marcus sang off-key. Sophie pretended to be embarrassed but sang along anyway. It was perfect in the way that only small, quiet moments can be perfect.