Seventeen

Seventeen years ago Sunday (on a day that was also a Sunday now that I’m thinking about it,) we had our first baby. We were hardly more than babies ourselves, and had no idea the adventure that awaited us.

I’m not sure that we even knew what we were supposed to do with her once we got her home, but somehow she survived having us for parents.

It wasn’t long before our blond-haired sweetheart was ready to take on the world.

We’ve seen her grow into a thinker

a dancer

a great big sister

a cheerleader

a princess and entrepreneur

and have watched it all with fascination.

I’ve loved almost every moment of being her mom.

Which is why I’ve been dreading this birthday. I didn’t want her to turn 17 this year. She’s a senior in high school and this is her last birthday at home with us. Next year’s day will be spent with her friends in the dorms, and we’ll be just a phone call or maybe (if we’re lucky) a trip to lunch or dinner. This is the last one and it’s breaking my heart. I tear up every time I think about how this is the end of her being our little girl at home.

I asked her a few weeks ago what she wanted to do for her birthday, expecting it to revolve around her friends and probably include chocolate cake.

She thought for a moment and said “There’s a CrossFit competition on my birthday. I’d kinda like to do that.” Then after a second she added “You could be on my team.”

So that’s what we did on Sunday. We went out and played together.

It stands for Wylie Team Fitness, not some other phrase.

I looked at her and saw the little girl who once banned me for life from playing dollhouse with her (Barbies can’t be giants and stomp on people. Now you know.) and the woman that she is all at the same time.

My blond baby is now a red head who’s no longer playing with dolls. These days she’s playing with bigger things.

Yes, that weighs more than she does.

And the gracefully leaping dancer now has a 32 inch vertical leap.


This is only 20 inches. Trust me when I tell you that watching her jump onto the 30 inch box is a sight to see.

The delicate princess isn’t really so delicate any longer. She’s kind of a bada**.

We played hard all day, and while we didn’t win, we both enjoyed the day and ignored the march of time. It was a great last birthday party (her friends came out to watch her and cheer her on), and her 17th birthday ended pretty much like that first one did…

with me exhilarated and exhausted, and holding her in my arms.