Thirteen

I was 24 when I had her.  Close to 25. I had been married for one year and three months and my husband was in grad school full time and working part-time when she came along. I knew nothing about babies. I never babysat growing up. I had no siblings. I probably could have counted on both hands the number of times I had held a baby by the time I gave birth to her. I was, as they say, “clueless.” I felt incredibly far behind and completely underprepared for motherhood. And yet, I was also convinced that no one knew how to take care of her but me. Maybe I still am.

I’ll admit…it was hard when she was a baby. Really hard. We lived in student housing a stone’s throw from the Butler University campus in Indianapolis, surrounded by college students who were pretty close in age to myself. I blearily pushed her big clunky stroller in my sleep deprived state around campus while she fidgeted and fussed and squawked. I wondered how it was that I wasn’t a college student anymore when it felt like just yesterday I had been running to class and hanging out on my college campus with my friends. And doing whatever the heck I wanted. I functioned on very little sleep, and not well at that. She was a good baby, but a baby who did not like to sleep, got bored very easily, and was very picky about how she liked to be held, seated, laying down, fed and just about anything else you can think of. She liked things done a certain way in a certain order and did not like to stray from the routine. (And she still possesses these characteristics to an extent.)

I look back at those days now, unbelieving that my roly poly, curly haired, brown-eyed ball of love can be a teenager. A TEENAGER.  Good Heavens. Thirteen years has whizzed by in some ways. I am amazed…AMAZED at how awesome she has become. When I think back to how little I knew in the beginning of her life and how far she has come despite it, I think it can only be the work of God. She is brilliantly smart, creative, beautiful, hilariously funny and sweet as can be. Most people dread the teenage years, and I’ll admit they are a little daunting, but I think she gets better every year. Even when she is moody and grumpy (which happens about once every 45 minutes.)  😉

My baby. My love. My cup runneth over.

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s13blog2s13blog3s13blog4s13blog5Yup. Definitely a teenager.

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