My "baby" turned 25 this week.
She came home to celebrate, and that was sweet. We had some special meals... waffles with fresh strawberries and whipped cream for breakfast and macaroni and cheese with lobster in it for supper. Her favorite turtle cheesecake for dessert. There were presents and giggles and balloons. I thought back to all the birthdays... the famous purple party when she was 4, the "red cowgirl party," the "baby doll ball," the Hawaiian party with the great treasure hunt. I loved those parties, all the preparation and planning, all the happy, laughing children. One year we even got a roll of bubble wrap the size of a Volks Wagon and spread it on our carport. We played dance music and let the kids jump on the wrap. It was wildly popular, and so loud that it sounded like war broke out in our little neighborhood.
That is not what I had planned on writing in this post, but those are the memories that just came popping into my head.
Mostly I was going to write about gifts. Because I thought about how as a mother I give my child gifts to celebrate her birth each year, and it never feels like I give her enough.
And it just occurred to me why that is. It is because nothing can equal the gift of her in my life.
Happy Birthday sweet daughter. I'm so glad you're mine.
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