Today is Adalia’s 18th birthday. I think that you will all agree with me that it simply is not possible for a child I gave birth to, to be an adult. Nope, I’m sure it’s not true.
But then I have this picture of me and Chuck 18 years ago today. Adalia was born in a birth center up in Alaska; delivered by a wonderful midwife. There was a snowstorm and her labor took forever. She broke my tailbone with her tiny six pound frame.
She was so tiny and perfect.
I remember marveling over the miracle of my baby. Our baby. Half Chuck, half me. It seemed impossible. And yet, there she was.
I had so many ideas and plans. I would be the Best Mom Ever (really). I would breastfeed (check), wear her in a sling/carrier (only she hated it), co-sleep (that only lasted 4 months- she was happier in her crib). We would take her everywhere with us, so she would be flexible and learn to sleep anywhere (um…didn’t work). She was wild and crazy. Precious and precocious. I often wondered what I was doing wrong, when I saw Other People’s Babies. Adalia was only happy when being entertained. She only slept for 45 minutes at a time. She projectile vomited (they weren’t diagnosing reflux 18 years ago).
We were madly in love with her. She threw most of my parenting theories out of the window in her first year. And second year. And third.
But she grew and we grew and our family grew.
And now she’s grown.
I taught her to read and write. She taught me to be a mom. I’ve brought her joy and tears. She’s loved me and at moments, I’m sure, hated me.
And now she’s getting married. To an amazing guy I would have hand-picked for her had I met him first. But I didn’t need to, because God did.
Happy Birthday, Adalia! I can’t wait to visit you two in New Zealand.