I remember exactly where I was on February 19, 1993 at 10:19 pm. I was giving birth to my first child, my only daughter. It was the happiest day of my life. I remember hearing her cry for the first, but not the last time. I remember looking down at her tiny little face and calling her by the name her father and I picked out for her. I remember the that we never considered picking out a boy’s name because we were so sure that we were having a girl. We were right.
There are so many little things that remember about her from her first 17 years that is hard to believe that my little girl, my baby, is growing up and going off to college next year.
On one hand, I can’t wait to see her go. We are constantly at odds. The only thing that we can agree on is the fact that neither one of us knows what we are talking about. I am so tired of squashing arguments between her and her little brother. I can’t wait to be able to see the floor in her bedroom. We already have plans for it. I believe that all of this strife is God’s way of helping and preparing us to let go.
On the other hand, I don’t want her to go away. I don’t want her to grow up and leave the nest. I will miss the arguing and fighting. I will miss the hugs, the kisses, the jokes, and the teasing. I will miss the comfort of knowing that she is safe and sound in the mess she calls a room. I will miss embarrassing her by showing up at school during the middle of the day.I will miss all of it.
So, I will spend the next couple of months in the bittersweet space of helping her decide on a college while wishing that she could stay. I can only hope that her father and I have done a good job raising her and given her a good foundation for making good decisions.
If you know my daughter, don’t tell her that I said any of this. I will just deny it. If you know me, a little sympathy and a shoulder to cry on would be greatly appreciated.