My firstborn angel, my babygirl, the glorious fruit of my loins, is 18 today.
And I completely trust that Husband, my dearest darling, knows what I mean when I say:
She is the love of my life.
Social skills continue to be her biggest challenge, so rather than spending her 18th birthday in a circle of bosom chums, as I did, she's spending it with Mama. I think she's disappointed about this — we did in fact consider an idea that would have involved her peers — but for a number of reasons, it didn't pan out.
It makes me very sad, but I am trying to keep my chin up and be of good cheer. The last thing she should have to do is comfort me.
I am very hopeful that at college next year, in the company of total strangers who have never known her as "the weird girl," she will be able to reinvent herself, spread her wings, and find the true friends she deserves. This is my most deeply held and fervent wish for my cherub.
But I am very good at dreaming up fun and exciting plans, so her 18th birthday will comprise:
- a yummalicious breakfast!
- nachos, guac, and salsa for a lunch "snack" (since we're still full from baked French toast, Italian sausage, and cheesy eggs)!
- a night in a hotel with room service, a.c., a pool, and poolside food and beverage service!!
- Season 3 of Orange Is the New Black on DVDs, and all the cords we need to hook up Mimosa's laptop to the hotel TV!
- presents galore!!
- and, shh, don't tell — a glass of sangria!!!!
She's at her Vocal Studio class right now; I'll pick her at 4, and we're off to the hotel. All good.
In other news, I have been working like Sisyphus and have already charged 27 hours — since SATURDAY.
I am very ready for a cocktail.
Perhaps this is not statistically significant.
Cheers to daughters everywhere!
love and kisses,