We’ve come a long way, baby.
Our daughter turns 14 soon. We’re busy texting friends’ parents with sleepover deets, working out how many mattresses we can fit in the living room and thinking about pizza toppings. Jake and I will relinquish the better part of the house for the evening and take refuge in the bedroom with Netflix. It’s a pretty straightforward situation.
Every year, like a lot of mothers, I think about my childs’ birthdays gone by, including the original (which involved a lot of drugs and not the recreational kind. It was the best of times, the worst of times). It used to be a lot more complicated. Am I happy things are settling down? Not sure.