Fourteen

Fourteen years ago at this time, I was in a hospital bed getting acquainted with my brand new daughter. I had labored with her for the better part of thirty-six hours and was exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. As I held her soft weight in my arms, I marveled at the perfection of her tiny nose, her bow-shaped mouth and her delicate eyelids, fringed with lashes so thick and long; a super-model would weep with envy.

She was not yet two hours old and, already, I had promised her the world or; as much of it as I could possibly give her. I promised to be her biggest fan, staunchest ally, best friend, most aggressive defender and most constant support.

In return, she cracked open one eyelid, yawned and filled her diaper with a biological specimen worthy of a much larger child and, just like that; the adventure began.

Today, I kidnapped that baby from school and took her out to lunch and on a shopping spree at the mall. We enjoyed a relaxed day together and, just like I did fourteen years ago, I marveled at her perfection. I told her how proud I am of her accomplishments, how much I enjoy the person she is becoming and how grateful I am to be her mother.

In return, she cocked one eyebrow and snorted in disgust.

It was like déjà vu.

Minus any sign of biohazardous materials in her underwear.

Thank god.