Hey Nora…
Today’s your 12th birthday. You know, back in my day of flannels and Doc Martens and Nirvana-listening, “12” wasn’t a crazy milestone.
Well, joke’s on me, because your outfit of choice usually involves a flannel, and today you got the prized Doc Martens from your grandmother that you’d been pining over. (Side note- If you had told me in 1992 that my mother would be buying my firstborn combat boots in sixth grade? You’d have to revive me with a bottle of Love’s Baby Soft.)
You’ve also recently developed a great love affair with Nirvana so, like, what even is time anymore.
But back to my first point. 12 as a milestone? Nice try.
Except.
12…
…Is the age when you’re newly immersed in your brand new middle/high school. Definitely a milestone. 12 is when we’re dipping a toe into short spurts of babysitting. 12 is a later bedtime, access to my Spotify account, and saying yes to you more than no.
12 is a Covid vaccine.
You know, today when I was mulling over what I wanted to say to you in this space, I kept vacillating between weird humor and overt melancholy. Because that’s our relationship right now. We have so many inside jokes, so many sarcastic asides, so many darkly funny takes on current events, and so many nerdy references. But we get sad together, too, emoting largely for people we read about in the news and fictional characters who meet tragic (yet beautiful!) ends and even random song lyrics.
You’re wise beyond your years- you’ve always been wise beyond your years- and seeing you grow more and more into who you’re meant to be is such a gift. Because here’s the thing, Nora, I’ve always loved you. From the moment this tiny, angry, pink Muppet was laid in my arms, I loved you with parts I hadn’t known I’d possessed.
But no one ever told me how much I’d like you.
And I really do.
You’re silly, you’re funny, you’re the type of effortlessly cool I definitely envied at 12 (and put way too much effort into attempting), and you’re exceptionally kind. You know yourself. And that ability to know yourself is such a gift to the world, because it gives the people around you a soft landing space to know themselves, too. Who wouldn’t like that?
So yes, I’m your Mom. (And probably not even a Cool Mom, because I have rules and consequences, and maybe also because Cool Momitude has never seemed super fair or healthy to the kid, you know? Digress.) But that said, I also get to be your friend. Which is a perk that, again, I didn’t see coming.
Getting to co-create a pal who lives for puzzles and breathes novels and quietly agrees to lay on the floor and listen to music for hours at a time? One who appreciates fanciness and deep-dives into comfort and has all the makings of a very expensive dining companion? Someone who melts into old movies yet sends hysterical (to a small, small cross-section of brains) memes with equal aplomb?
Even though it’s your birthday, kiddo, you’re the gift. So happy birthday to you, and happy Your Birthday to us all. (Especially me.)
Love you, Bitsy- a milestone amount.
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