Happy Birthday, Bird!
I carried you literally, and I’ll carry you always.
I made the mistake of listening to the playlist I made you for your high school graduation. Loves Me Like a Rock came on, and I got teary. I’ve always been a weepy person, but motherhood has really amplified my natural waterworks. Your birthday also marks the first day of your brother’s senior year of high school. Oomph. It’s a lot for this sentimental old soul. This is the first birthday we are celebrating miles apart. These are not the milestones anyone speaks of, I suppose for good reason. What are we even supposed to do? Facetime birthday cake eating?Don’t get me wrong, there will be cake on our end.
It’s true what they say about the days being long and the years short. I was just getting used to you being 18, a full-fledged adult rather than a fledgling, and now I’m looking at a 19-year old young man living on his own. Though you are taller than me and can easily lean your elbow atop my head, you will always be my first baby.
I see how your stubbornness as a child has served you well into adulthood; you don’t cave to peer pressure and you continue to be fiercely independent. And it’s no secret you’re the smartest one among us. I marvel at how you process information and analyze complex issues. You are a gifted writer and communicator with a knack for numbers, a unicorn of sorts. You remind me so much of my brother and my dad, and yet you and I share a constitution (maybe it’s because we’re both Virgos). We are both opinionated and steadfast in our values with unflinchingly high standards. Sometimes I worry that I passed down the worst of me, but then I see your conviction in action and I’m so proud of how you carry yourself. Your smile is everything, and I treasure the rare occasions I make you laugh.
On this, your 19th birthday, I want you to know that I adore every ounce of your being. You are a gift, a treasure, my greatest reward. I am so proud of you, not for your accomplishments, but for your character. I’m sorry for all the ways I fucked up on this journey of motherhood. I think often of all the ways I failed you, but if nothing else, I tried. We wrestled through these years together, and I’m confident the future is bright.
I’ll leave you with my wish for you. Be true to yourself, always. Your own northstar won’t misguide you. And because I’m your mom, I have to remind you to make good choices, not feel good choices.
I hope you celebrate in style with your friends. And I hope there’s cake.
I love you to the moon and back again.
Mom