Happy birthday; you’re officially 18 now – welcome to adulting.
You’ll hate it. (Don’t worry, we all do)
When lockdown was first announced, or at least, the first one, I never anticipated we’d be celebrating either of our autumnal birthdays with that lampshade, but here we are.
I doubt either of us were expecting things to pan out as they were, but they have. And we, as adults – because we both are now – have to learn to move forward and adapt our plans.
Four years on from doing my A-levels, I couldn’t imagine sitting down and trying to study for them in this environment, but you’re doing great! And for once, I’m not being sarcastic (as you think I so often am), I am genuinely proud of you.
Two years of university now becoming three, and I doubt we’ll be as connected as we once were; which is okay! People grow all the time, but I miss those summer holidays where we’d bake and make a mess but have wonderful cookies or bread at the end of it. (Those brownies were a one-off, and I’m still saying that was your fault).
That Christmas when all four of us laughed until we cried at a somewhat stupid party game that we played all afternoon.
Can we not do that again?
I know you miss me when I’m not here – as annoying as we are to the other, it’s funnier when we’re a team.
And I think I’ve seen you more often in the weeks where I’ve not been staying at home than in the nine months I have been home. Maybe it’s both of us having different sleep schedules (admittedly yours is more ‘functional human’) or maybe it’s two different studying schedules.
I’ll spare you the embarrassing hugs and songs – that’s what mum and dad are for, anyway – but we can at least enjoy the cake we had made for you specially.
Happy birthday, goof.