WHEN I WAS in primary school, a classmate told me their cousin was going to be four years old the following day.

Instantly on high alert I strongly suspected they were making fun of me. I knew who their cousin was and they were not four years old at all; they were the very same age we were – eight.

I always did live my days paying attention to only that which appealed to me and gave me joy, so when I learned about a phenomenon called a Leap Year, my sensitive imagination went into overdrive. I couldn’t get my eight-year-old psyche around it at all. A child, through no fault of their own, coming into being on a day that exists only once every four years? Immediately my underdeveloped, “what-will-people-think?” brain stapled a stigma onto having a Leap Year Birthday. Sure that was nearly as unfortunate as being born on actual Christmas Day. Or either side of Christmas. Hells Bells!

My birthday falls during the Christmas month and happily I share the same date with Sinéad O’Connor and Jim Morrison, 8 December. Observed as a Holy Day and because I was educated by a religious order, throughout my entire primary and secondary school career, I got the day off.

Life is full of swings and roundabouts and this holiest of milestones presented another headache for me. No-one in school knew it was my birthday because, well, we weren’t there. All of my friends celebrated theirs during the summer months.

Feeling very hard done by altogether, I remember asking if I could do a swapsies and have my birthday in June instead of December.

I don’t recall getting a definitive answer – or a birthday party – so clearly that idea went over like a lead balloon. And nothing changed. Bah humbug.

I am not the only one in my clan with a festive birthday. We are steeped in Christmas and New Year’s Day jubilees. There’s even a few in November. One of my siblings, surrendering to it all, recently lamented, “there’s just too many of us” before ripping open a box of Quality Street. And now there is a teeny tiny little niece adding to the birthday milestones at this time of year. Oh holy night.

A work colleague from back in the day swore her daughter’s 25 December birthday would not be lumped in with the Christmas celebrations just because her entry into the world rubbed up against the wrong side of the silly season. 

On the plus side, having a large number of family birthdays at Christmas delivers onto us the perfect excuse to get together. This impeccable timing also provides a dual purpose; we get to celebrate another family-on-tour trip around the sun and fit in a Christmas party with a single restaurant booking. This double celebration means we can save some coin and the eatery of choice also benefits by ferrying bottles of wine to our table.

And because our collective number tips over into double digits we never run the risk of falling short of people showing up.

Leaving the small parish that is loosely disguised as my family out of the equation, I considered further pros attached to a December birthday.

At the start of the month I received my annual free birthday coffee – a small nod of recognition and appreciation from the franchise. Another small win because it was on Cyber Monday and who gets anything free of charge on Cyber Monday.

Going to Funderland in the RDS springs to mind. Who cares that I was there only once and left with a fear of rollercoasters for life. It was brilliant fun.

According to a report from The Journal of Aging Research, December people are more likely to see their 105th year.

Another fun little study, apropos of nothing, discovered that people who have more birthdays tend to live longer.

And then there are the downsides as I see them. As a pre-teen I was mortified beyond words to be linked to anything regarding an intimate genesis. And because my birthday falls on the feast day of the Immaculate Conception, I never brought up that day as being my birthday. Never. Ever. Although I do have a very sentimental memory of a childhood friend in the know gifting me a simple chain in the schoolyard the day before. Possibly because they are a New Year’s Day arrival themselves and sympathised with me.

I don’t recollect ever getting a two-for-the-price-of-one present, but I was horribly aware of how near “my” day was to Christmas day.

As much as I wanted a spring/summer birthdate as a child, I became allergic to having a party in my teens. Still am. Which in itself is a positive because this time of year is stressful enough for folk without presenting them with an unwanted obligation that goes further than sending a quick happy birthday text.

But really what of it, the time of year we are born? It doesn’t matter at all. Let’s not get our tinsel in a tangle. But here’s a thought. Perhaps the real celebrant here is the person who laboured, literally, to bring about our birth. Never an easy task at the best of times. Maybe we could give the day over to them.

Looking at the bigger picture, having a birthday that competes with Santa’s arrival guarantees it will not be overlooked. After that it is up to the individual how they choose to mark it. Happy Christmas, you filthy animals.

Gwen Loughman is the gatekeeper of four boys, one husband and a watcher over two dogs.