Decades of Daughter

I remember being a young mother calculating how "old" I would be when my first born turned 30. And now that day has arrived. Over blips and blurs and on the wings of time, three decades have passed ...

Her milestone is my milestone: thirty years of mothering and thirty years of more joy and love than I could have ever imagined. She was my firstborn -  my teacher - and the brunt of every misstep and mistake I made. As a "gourmet taster" (breast feeding mom's will know what this means) she taught me patience. She enjoyed "milking" the moment and had an easy disposition. As a small child she was a one woman show entertaining us with her re-enactments of fairy tales, and later, making videos starring her cousins and sisters. I have a vague recollection of a pregnant Barbie being dumped by Ken....

As a teenager she forced me to dig deep and remember to be her mother, and not her friend. She was a homebody and even when the day came for her to move out, she didn't move far. She bought a place just down the street, just past my Dad's place, and stayed close to her tribe.

Now as a middle aged *choke* woman, I enjoy a special relationship with my daughters, just as my sisters and I shared with our mother. I read somewhere that our children are not our own to have and hold; that they are merely passing through. And I suppose if we have done our job, they will choose to stick around.

Thirty years ago a precious gift came my way, and I am privileged that she chose me to be her mom. Happy birthday to my strong, independent, nurturing daughter. I couldn't love you more.