Tomorrow, my first child turns 16 years old. I can't even really believe it, as I'm sure every mother can understand. I mean, I still can feel her inside my womb, sticking her little heels into my right ribs. And yet, as I write, she's walking gracefully around the house, her hair still wet from the shower, confident and perfectly at ease with herself. I look at her and my eyes mist up. She is the epitome of beauty to me, and not just because she's my daughter. There's really something about her. Always has been. This glow. This inner power. I said it for the first time when she was three, and I still believe it all these years and people later: She is my favorite person on this planet. How I got to carry her, and birth her, and mother her, and watch her grow through childhood is such a privilege to me that I can scarcely talk about her without tears. She's that amazing. You should meet her, really.
And now, she's sixteen. Sweet as can be. The clock ticks louder and louder of the limited time I have left with her in my daily presence, in my home, where I can look at her, watch her, admire her. Learn from her. How I love my sweet Lyns. What a blessing she has been to me these 16 often difficult years. How she deserved so much more, and yet look at what she's made with what she got!
Here's my sweet girl through the years.
Days before she was born.
And now, to make her a proper cake!