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14 hours into this mother-of-a-teen thing, and it’s fine

If I had a baby girl on this day in 1997, she must be 13.

I carried her in my body for almost 42 weeks.

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I nursed her as a newborn. I watched her blossom into a gorgeous, bubbly blue-eyed baby. I tried to wrap my mind around her toddler tantrums and antics and managed to get her through those years unscathed.

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I watched her write her name as a preschooler. I dropped her off at school on her first day of Kindergarten. She read thicker and thicker books and completed math problems with increasingly high numbers—without my help.

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She grew taller, lovelier, wiser.

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She is still growing in that direction, up and eventually away. That’s the goal, right? For our children to be independent, self-sufficient, productive, good, and on their own.

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She’s entering the last official stage of childhood with an eye on the future. She is optimistic and proud, but she is also realistic. During dinner on a recent night, she told the boys there may be days ahead when she is very crabby and days when she is happy.

It’s normal, she said.

I laughed from the kitchen, amazed by her self-awareness. Or perhaps she’s been reading The Care and Keeping of You again? Either way, she still delights me in the same way she delighted me as a hammy preschooler. She’s still cute. She’s still my girl.

It’s time for the teens around here, ready or not.

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Happy 13th Birthday to our Aidan Elizabeth.

23 comments to 14 hours into this mother-of-a-teen thing, and it’s fine

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