13.
She’s 13.
I am now the parent of a 13 year old.
And as I sit here listening to the laughter and squeals and amplified voices coming from the basement during my daughter’s slumber party, I am thankful.
My lovely daughter, asked for legos.
And another Egyptian excavation kit.
As well as an iTunes card. (A girl has to have her music.)
But so far, for the most part, we still have a kid. Her wardrobe isn’t that important. Boys? Forget about it. We ain’t got no time for that drama. And don’t mention makeup. She’ll look at you as if you have two heads.
She’s a techie lovin’, lego buildin’, ski hat wearin’, guitar playin’, karate choppin’ 13 year old. And right now, she’s in the basement with the music blarin’, while she and a small group of friends play “Model Mishaps” – a birthday party tradition.
I remember myself at 13. 7th grade. Already boy crazy. Mindful of what I wore. Wanting to be so much older than I was. She is so very different than I was at that age.
And I am grateful.
Take your time, Harper. There is no rush.
I love you just the way you are. I LIKE you just the way you are.
And I hope you do, too.
