People Always Say It Flies By; They're Not Kidding

When I was growing up, I had many different career plans: doctor, veterinarian, author, hamburger stand owner… But I always knew one thing for sure: I wanted to be a mom. So, when I was 26, I adopted a baby. By myself. It was wild and crazy and the most wonderful moment of my young life. Emma filled every hole in my heart and more, and I never once thought she hadn’t been destined to be my daughter from the beginning of time.

The other night, my dad and I went to watch Emma cheer at a Lady Bulldogs Inland Lakes Basketball game. She’s a fantastic cheerleader: put anything to a beat and she remembers the moves and words instantly. This night, though, I saw something I hadn’t seen before when I’d watched her cheer. I saw joy. I saw her do silly dances to the pep band music, I saw her call out to the players, and I saw an expression in her eyes I hadn’t seen since she was three years old.

She’s had a rough go of it, my baby girl. Her genetics have held her down, given her some really big obstacles. Through the years, I’ve thought, “Oh my god, she is never going to leave this house! None of us are going to survive this!” She’s been through a lot of sadness, depression, complexity that I really believe most 16-year-old girls haven’t had to--and maybe won’t ever have to-experience.

But she is strong! She’s fought through it all, and come out on the golden side of the rainbow. Now, yes, she still drives me crazy with every inch of her stubborn, teenage, I-know-it-all-already-and-you-don’t-have-to-explain-it-to-me attitude. Her room’s a pit, we have to beg her to do the dishes, and she’ll get in that “dig” on her little brother whenever she can. But, really, didn’t I just describe all sixteen-year-old girls? And so, it amazes me:  her determination, her will, and this joy. This joy she’s finally found.

When Emma was young--a small toddler through probably age 4--she was a whirlwind of joy. She would enter a room of strangers, like at my grandma’s church nursery, and say, “Hi, Friends!” Her face would say, “I’m here! The party may begin!” She giggled and sang “The Aristocats,” and weaved her little fingers between mine everywhere we’d go. Before bed, we would “cuddle two songs” and I would wrap myself around her as she fell asleep. Her hair was thin, so I kept it short in a pixie, and she had these round, rosy cheeks and huge, deep blue eyes. She was like a living Precious Moments doll.

I had forgotten it all. I have spent these years since age five trying so hard to pull her out of this cloud, to prepare her for what’s coming up, that I have forgotten to prepare myself. I saw her on the court and thought, “Wait, now, just wait a second. Just hang on one minute. When did this happen?” She’s grown so much. She’s almost an adult. Like, a doesn’t-live-in-our-house-anymore adult! How did it go so fast? I didn’t savor it. I was trying so hard to get her to THIS PLACE, this prepared for happy adulthood place, that I didn’t give myself time to sit and listen to her sleepy breathing, to watch her learn new things and develop parts of her own personality, to freeze moments in my mind as she came out of her cocoon and transformed.

When she was a baby, one of my favorite things she’d do was reach her arm around my back as we rocked for her night feeding. At about 6 months, she began patting my back, just like I’d pat hers after her bottle as she was falling asleep. It was so sweet, this mimicking of my loving gesture. I saw her face at cheer and I ached so much for one last chance at that moment, feeling that tiny arm reach around me, holding all of her tight against me.

As I was growing up, I always knew I wanted to be a mom. I just didn’t know how much it would hurt.