Well, I did it. I called my baby to wish her a happy seventeenth birthday. She’s out with her friends off to destinations unknown. It was her preference, far above the choice of spending this evening with her dear mother, a family vegetarian dinner in her honor and carrot cake with candles. I didn’t even run out to get her a gift, knowing she wouldn’t be here. I told her I love her, asked her to stay safe and have a good time. I just need to learn to let go.
I wonder if it’s because she’s the last one that makes this so difficult or if it’s because she’s the most daring. She’s a lot like me. I wonder how I spent my seventeenth birthday I can’t seem to remember. I remember my sweet sixteen and my graduation party three months after my seventeenth birthday but not a birthday for seventeen. Perhaps that was a birthday I chose my friends over my mother.
Does anyone remember seventeen? Will she remember this birthday or just the face piercing she got last week, the week before turning seventeen? She better not come home with a tattoo!