Just reached a milestone:  I am officially the parent of an adult.  A teen adult but an adult, nonetheless.

When I was decorating her happy birthday signs, I almost cried.  When I wrote out her birthday card, I almost cried.  When I woke up the morning of her birthday and whispered “happy birthday” before I walked out the door for work, I almost cried.  One might think I’m a sentimental sap, and maybe I am, but I sure as hell didn’t expect the flood of emotion that overwhelmed me on her birthday.

When I was pregnant with Chrissy, and before I knew she was a girl, I was CERTAIN that she was a boy.  I had no doubts, whatsoever.  When we found out that I was carrying a girl, I was gob smacked.  GOBSMACKED.  How could I have a girl?  What in the world did I know about raising a girl?  How could I be a mother to a girl when I barely remembered my own mom?  It took me a few days to process the news, and I was darn glad we’d decided to find out the sex ahead of time.  And maybe that was terrible of me, to feel that way, but I did.  The thought of a daughter scared the hell out of me.

My sister died when I was seven months pregnant with Chrissy.  The night before she died, we got into an argument about whether or not she would be in the delivery room with me.  She was insistent she would be, and I was unsure.  It wasn’t that I didn’t love my sister; that was never the question.  I just had no idea how I would feel in that moment, in the hospital, in labor, in pain.  Would I want anyone else in the room?  I wasn’t sure.  Donna was sure for me (honestly, in hind sight I should’ve shup up and agreed because Donna was nearly always right) but I held my ground.  The next morning, she was dead.  I didn’t feel that guilt that some people wrestle after a fight and a death because I knew our relationship was so much more than that stupid argument.  She was my sister/mom/best friend all wrapped up in one.  One fight is inconsequential—our love for each other transcended that stupid shit.

I mention all of that because her death meant that when I brought that seven pound, thirteen and half ounces of XX chromosomes, I had no mom and no big sister to lean on.  That was hard.  Really hard.  And every question I asked my dad earned me the answer of, “I don’t know, Jen.”  I know I’m not the only one to deal with stuff like that.  I know it’s not the worst thing in the world.  But it was hard.  And it was lonely.  And it was overwhelming.  And sometimes it was scary.

But we grew together, that kid and me.  We figured it out.  There were a lot of growing pains and a lot of crying (colic for her and new-mom-dom for me), but we figured it out.

Then came baby sister, Carolyn, and Chrissy as a great big sis.  She likes being bossy, so it was a perfect fit.

Then came the divorce.  And there was an entirely new learning curve of girls and mom and work and school and fear and struggling and poverty and foreclosure and, once again, more tears.

But again, we all grew together.  And this little girl whose very existence had scared the shit out of me started growing into this strong-willed, independent, smart, thoughtful, sassy young woman.  And there have been rough patches, for sure, and battles of will (like the time she wanted to go to school when it was twenty below zero and I didn’t want her to go to school when it was twenty below zero and we ended up in a literal wrestling match on the kitchen floor), but we’ve muddled through.  And I have absolutely marveled at watching this transformation before my eyes.  It’s been magical and stunning and such a g-d privilege.

And now we’re here, at adulthood.  We’re looking at colleges.  She’ll be going away to school, and I was always so excited for her to go away to school!  And, to be honest, I always judged the parents who had such a hard time letting their kids go away.  But, damnit, I get it, now.  OF COURSE, she’ll go away to school and try on adulthood, complete with skipping class and getting drunk and singing into hairbrushes with her dorm-mates.  Of course she will.  And she’ll never know how fucking hard it will be for me to let her go and not call her constantly and not text her constantly.  She’ll never know because her job now is to venture forth and feel safe knowing that I’m always here.  Her job is to try on adulthood and fail spectacularly sometimes and succeed marvelously other times.  Her job is to move forward knowing that I’m behind her. Her job is not to worry about her mom.  Her job isn’t to comfort me. Sure, she’ll know that I’ll miss her, but I don’t ever want her to know that I feel like my heart is breaking because, ironically, she was the one who healed it in the first place.