Today you turn seventeen.
My baby. My first born.
That little blonde girl is now practically a woman.
I see glimpses of that girl in your smile, when you are concentrating, or when you are sleeping.
I see glimpses of me at your age, a world full of possibilities and excitement.
Today, on your birthday, you are not here. You are rockin’ it with your girls in the city. A band chick. A band chick with black and green hair, dark eyeliner rimming your grey-blue eyes and a bright pink Birthday Girl badge clipped to your hip.
You will spend your special day doing something you love. The way it should be. No birthday cake. No special birthday dinner. You are a grown up now.
When the hell did that happen?
I still remember when you were born. Thirty eight hours of labour, every intervention known to man before a caesarian. I was laying on the table, Dad at my side. We were both terrified. We just wanted you to be OK. Then all of a sudden there was a cry and you were bundled up and brought to us.
And we cried.
You were finally here. All banged up with your two tiered head from the vacuum extraction that went wrong, a cut on your face from the failed forceps delivery, but you were the most beautiful thing on earth. Staring at us with wary eyes, which is not surprising after all you went through.
And now, all of a sudden, you are seventeen.
We have grown up together. You have taught me so much. About patience and tolerance and how to let go. And I am trying. As you approach your final year of highschool, I am trying to let you go into the world. Cut those damn apron strings.
I can still see that little girl looking up at me. That little girl. My first born. I miss you needing me.
But I love the amazing person you have become.
Happy Birthday my angel,