Sweet Sixteen

I was doing well until the spinach. 

It hasn’t been the easiest year, when the cardiologist solemnly sat listening to your heart beat, mine almost stopped.  I knew something was wrong. Growing up in a medical family I had seen that look before.  As far as bad news went, it was the good kind.  We were blessed your surgery was routine. God was so gracious.  The hardest moment for me came when that wonderful fat Santa man came and took you away down the hall for your operation. You hugged me and held tight, lip quivering.  I wrapped my arms around you and screamed silently.  Begging for God to walk with you as He went with you where I could not.  Regardless of how old you get, your distress bypasses the filter of my reasoning.  Your issues tear through layers of emotion, manipulating time like plasticine, leaving me reeling.     

It hasn’t been the easiest month. To start, you have never been away for 4 days before.  That information might astonish some but I’m not likely to apologize for it.  I simply like having you close.  When the opportunity came for you to visit your buddy, I allowed it knowing you would have a lovely time.  I showed great maturity throughout the trip, waiting until you texted first and saying good night only once an evening.  We were ridiculously functional.  In your absence, your sister spiked a raging fever and kept herself busy shivering and blowing her nose.  It was sad.  When you returned with a horrific cold, I suspected fatigue figured heavily in my future.  I didn’t mind.  You surprised me when you joined me at three in the morning, padding down the hall, grabbing a blanket and snuggling down on the couch. The company was nice.  We shared the Kleenex and Tylenol and I thought about when you were tiny.  In those days I was equipped with a nose bulb and Tylenol was dispensed with an eye dropper.  Those were some of the most delightfully hideous times we spent together.  You, feverish with a soft fuzzy head and me, stupid tired and begging Jesus for you to fall back to sleep.  I would give a lot to hold you like that again.    

It hasn’t been the easiest week.  We had a girl gathering to organize and you had to go to work for the first time.  I thank God that my friend thought of hiring you.  It brings me comfort that your first step away is toward people I know.  But that didn’t stop me from getting a lump in my throat when you crossed the street and entered the store.  I phoned my girlfriend as I drove away, determined not to cry.  “It’s so good.” She cooed.  “Good things: responsibility, stretching her wings. This is success.”   I was having none of it.  “It’s horrid!”  I shouted back.  “Stop talking nonsense.  Awful, hard and horrid and I don’t care if you tell me otherwise!”  Blessedly, she was beyond finding me offensive and cooed at me until my eyes stopped stinging.  She moved on to distracting me with current events and questions.  Somehow, I made it home without running into a ditch.

It hasn’t been the easiest 24 hours.  Quite frankly, I feel old.  There was something surreal about the Z Generation, arguably the most tech savvy cohort the planet has ever known, spell bound as you watched a Polaroid camera picture develop.   “Oh my gosh, that is so amazing!” You all squealed as your coiffed blonde heads leaned in to watch white give way to blue green images.  “That is SO COOL!”  The experience was equal parts disturbing and hysterical.  To see an almost obsolete technology make a comeback, made me wish it were possible to own shares in Kodak.  It brought to mind the scripture in Ecclesiastes 1:9,

What has been is what will be,
    and what has been done is what will be done,
    and there is nothing new under the sun.

And so dear child, these are the things that go on beyond your view as we, as a family, navigate your growing up.  Your father and I have been fully engaged in this process for a full 16 years. Without bragging, I think I’m an expert on you.  Which is why, when you grabbed the box of spinach from the fridge and threw a handful of the stuff in your smoothie, I just about lost my ever loving mind.  Here you were, putting a raw green vegetable in a blender and willingly drinking it.  I repeat: you actually added spinach to your smoothie under your own volition. 

Do you, child of mine, have any idea of how much effort went into trying to put vegetables down your sweet gullet?!

That is why, when you had your smoothie in hand, I went outside giggled until the tears started.  I cried because you really are growing up.  I cried because regardless of how much I love you, you still surprise me.  I cried because love hurts and one day we will have to part until at last things are made right. I cried because God loves you the most and He alone will be able to walk you the entire distance of your days.

Happy Birthday Child of Mine. May your days be bright and may you fulfill all the plans your God has for your life (and several of mine),

I’m praying for you,

xoxMummy