My kid’s stolen my bad birthday

last week, the limelight was firmly fixed on her. Nala the Birthday Stealer.

One cake for her – none for me. One Happy Birthday singalong for her – none for me. 342 photos of her – two of me.

‘‘Happy Birthday Nala! Oh, you too Jordan.’’ See, they don’t even say ‘‘happy birthday’’ to me now, I’m just a tag on Nala’s big day.

Ah well, I had a good run. OK, an average run. An average run of last-minute gifts and hung-over messages.

Well, since the spotlight was now firmly shining on minime, I had plenty of time to think about my New Year resolutions for 2020.

After all, my 2019 one had ended before it even really got started. I never do these resolution things. They seem silly and ultimately make people kick themselves in the shin.

On January 1, my wife asked the family what our resolutions were. I jokingly/ seriously responded, ‘‘To eat healthier’’. Jokingly, as to not let on that I even care about these things – but a slither of seriousness because it would actually be a decent resolution to stick to.

By 12pm New Year’s Day I was licking my fingers (because for some reason they stopped making those amazing wet wipe things years ago) savouring every drop of KFC deliciousness. My New Year resolution was over, so I kicked myself in the shin.

New Year resolution 2020: legally change my birth date. Maybe to April 1, that would be fun.