Today this baby turned twelve years old. Twelve feels quite like something, a dozen years!
I've been thinking all day, in the midst of cake making and celebrating and IMAX movie watching (by the way, so good), about the day she was born, and the time when she was a newborn. Oprah created waves around that time with an episode (that I never saw but my sister described to me) about ordinary suburban 11-year-old girls engaging in shocking and risky behaviors. I looked helplessly at my own newborn girl and wondered if I had any way to protect her, to keep her safe and sheltered and whole. So, I've screwed up plenty of times over the last twelve years, mostly because I have a quick temper. But, in spite of that, my 12-year-old daughter is very much the girl I would have hoped she'd be at this age. Actually, she's a pretty young 12 in some ways. Boys aren't on her radar, she plays with dolls most days. But she's also very wise, funny, and insightful. I feel so fortunate that I get to know her, not just as her mother, but as a person. She's really awesome and inspiring.
Happy birthday, my sweet girl. I'm so blessed to be your mama.
