My girl turned thirteen and with that I officially and forever lost the privilege of nattering on about my “little” kids. All three are now teens. (I had to put that in writing because I can’t believe it myself) We moved into this house when number one was three and exactly two weeks before I had number two. I sit here, in the same living room where I’ve probably changed over 15,000 diapers and spent the same, give (give, give) or take, amount of hours feeding, feeding…feeding baby after baby.
My oldest son will be eighteen in June, the middle, fifteen in May and as I say, my daughter turned thirteen…yesterday. I’m new to this, a mum of teens. I’m thankful to my boys for easing me in gently. So far, knock on this virtual paper that would have once been wood, they have been trouble-free and catastrophe-clear. Nothing beyond the everyday challenges that occur to most everyone with kids or a beating heart.
There have been coughs and colds, flus and fights, (amazingly no fleas despite the many pets that have crossed our paths) sports and spills, good grades and the odd less than desirable dud. So far, we’ve avoided lice, premature diaper changing, illegal activity and skirted ‘round underage drinking and drug use. Yes, we’re friendly with fortuity to say the least.
So here I sit, in the same living room where all of this did or didn’t take place, where so much has changed and somehow stayed the same, the room where ideally all my girl will drink is a duplicate of the teen behaviour potion her brothers are saturated in (except of course, she will like hanging out with me a little more than they do, right?) and everything and nothing will change over and over and over again.