How The Hell Did I Become The Parent Of A Thirteen Year Old?

As evidenced by the number of folks witnessed carrying over-priced flowers yesterday, Valentine's Day is still going strong. Around here, February 14 has an entirely different meaning.
Thirteen years ago last evening, at 8:02 pm, this popped out of me...



Well, she wasn't wearing the hand-knits when she came out. Those were supplied later by the mother in law.
"I'm a teenager" she giggled while being tucked in last night. (Apparently, teens still enjoy being tucked in and kissed goodnight.) "I'm the mother of a teenager," was my reply. Inexplicable. As the Grateful Dead would say, 'What a long, strange trip it's been'. The journey has been particularly sweet for me because motherhood was never in my plan, insofar as I had one. Yet, sometimes The Universe knows what's best and hits you with,
"HAH! You think you know where your life is going? Well, not so fast, here's a wee surprise."
Before I knew it, we owned a second hand gold-toned fridge and lived in a family friendly neighbourhood. I also had a helper as you can see.
I love The Daughter beyond any kind of love I'd imagined was possible. Watching her grow into the remarkable young woman she is, has been a gift, a treat, a joy. She's funny, bright, and most of all, caring. Beautiful too, but perhaps I'm biased?
I'm a bit nervous about the challenges the next few years may bring - not about her ability to face them, but about my ability to let her go and make her mistakes as she finds her place in the world.So, fingers crossed. Head first into the teenage years we go! Happy Birthday Baby! Truck on spreading your sunshine.