DD turned 15 today. Instead of jumping for joy and celebrating this very cool birthday I’ve been sad. Depressed. Down. All of the above. I just can’t believe that my baby girl is growing up. And worse, I can’t believe how much it hurts to realize I only have three more years to really spend with her, if that because she’s going to get to a point where she’d rather spend time with friends than me. I’m lucky she’s not there yet.
My friends warned me this day would come, but I didn’t believe them. Even though I cry at sappy commercials, I thought I would skip the whole “my baby’s not a baby any more” stage.
But I didn’t.
I’m happy for her. It’s cool to see her finding her own sense of fashion. It’s fun to watch her discovering who she is and what she stands for. It’s amazing to hear her speak and read her writing and think, whoa! She wrote that!
But it’s still sad. And that’s okay too, I hope.
I don’t want to be one of those kamakazi moms who takes over their kids life or tries to live through them. I work hard to make her take care of school on her own even though we’re in the same building.
I don’t think I am. I hope not.