Now let me tell you 'bout my Girl...

Just about thirteen years ago, a very amazing thing happened to me. At the time I was pretty sure I was the first person in the world to do this, and that it was truly phenomenal that I did it.

I had a baby.

Turns out, it’s actually quite common. In fact, every one of us was given birth to rather than hatched! But at the time I was just stunned that my little body was capable of growing a new human and bringing that new person out into the world.

That new little person is the Child Who Made Me A Mother.

My Girl was born a month early. She kind of made me nervous for the whole 8 months leading up to her birth though. At about 12 weeks I drove my pickup truck down the hill and checked myself into the hospital while Jethro was at work. I thought I was going to lose my baby. Even though we were married, we weren’t ready to have a child yet. We wanted to wait until we had more money, more secure jobs, blah blah blah, and I was scared when the little white test stick confirmed my suspicions. By the time I went to the hospital, fearing a miscarriage, I was irrationally convinced that this was my punishment for being unsure of my impending motherhood; that this baby, who really was a wanted child, would be lost forever. I was in there for three days, hooked up to monitors and really scared.

But we survived. I was one of the lucky ones.

Because of the constant light contractions I was put on bed rest. Even walking across the apartment could bring on a tightness in my belly. There was another hospital stay a few months later. I just wanted to keep that baby in there long enough...

One night, a month before my due date, the contractions turned into the real thing. By the time Jethro got home around midnight, it was time to go. It happened fast, man. Real fast. By the time I got out of the basement and out to the car it was happening.

She was born at 6:41 am. Six hours of labour, a month early. She was in a heck of a hurry to get out.

I loved this kid since before she was born. She’s funny, smart, pretty, sensitive, caring, and completely amazing. I’m not just saying that because she’s mine!! She stuns me with the things she says, and I can’t stop looking at her.

Thirteen years later, I’m still freaked out that I had something to do with her existence...

And completely freaked out that she’ll be thirteen soon.

I remember being thirteen. I’ve spent the last year feeling relieved that my Girl, as a twelve year old, was not much like me at that age. At twelve I had dreams of going to sleep and never waking up. I thought how peaceful it would be to die. I wrote terrifying poems about nightmares. Not my Girl, thank God. I have seen premonitions of what she’ll be like as a teenager but nothing like the mess I was. At thirteen I was either a flaming born again Christian or a wannabe punk craving rebellion and anarchy... depending on what day you caught me.

The Girl, on the other hand, is an optimist. Kind of emotionally extreme, naturally, being my child of course, but generally a laid back, happy person who gravitates to the quirky, eccentric and delightfully odd side of life.

My Girl is small compared to most of the girls in her class. Still, she is just about perfectly eye to eye with me now. Her feet are the same size as mine.

She went camping with the church youth group last fall and had a great time. They painted each other's nails and ate pretzels and sang songs in the dining hall. She wants to go next year too.

She has an interest in making stop motion movies with Playmobil. She wants a YouTube account.

Tim Burton is her favourite director of all time.

She has a big crush on Orlando Bloom. I’m totally cool with that; I think it’s nice when a mother and daughter have something they can agree on.

She's pretty slick on a four-wheeler.

Like her mother, she’s easily moved to tears.

She’s been squealing about Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End for three weeks. Again, like her mother!

She’s developed a new giggle; it’s very high pitched. Usually if you say the name “Orlando Bloom” you will hear the new giggle.

In kindergarten she trotted down the sidewalk to school and snorted and whinnied like a horse when people talked to her. Now she ballet dances down the hall and struts off to school like she means it. If I’m lucky, she’ll turn around and wave.

Every day she is a little bit more teenager and a little bit less child. She’s always had a beautiful way of enjoying the age she’s at, and she’s still a little girl in some ways, but it’s changing. I’m afraid often that I’ll lose that little girl and I’ll miss her...but she’s always with me. When she’s a mother herself, she will still be my little girl, just as I am to my mother.

Meanwhile, this new version of her is blooming right in front of me. Sometimes I see it in a lifted chin, a pout, a stomp of the foot, a sarcastic word or a sly joke. Other times I hear it in her voice, in the words she chooses, or see it in her changing face or the way she walks. Her smile is different now. It’s more knowing. She laughs at different things.

I’ve had almost thirteen years to get used to her, and yet she still blows my mind. I helped create this person. She is complicated and wonderful and I love her so much it still shocks me.

I’ve been warning her that I’m about to get really stupid and dorky for a few years now. She nods, smiles confidently, and assures me that she’ll help me out with that if I need her to. She tells me it’s all going to be okay.

The next few years are going to be very interesting...