This week my girl turned eight.
That seems such a small number for a girl with such a huge, complex personality. Surely she can’t be just eight? It feels like she’s been here much longer. Like she’s worldly-wise. Like I’m living with a teenager already.
Eight years seem too short a time for us to fit everything we’ve gone through together in to.
She has personality traits that make my shoulders sink; make me feel like I haven’t the foggiest idea what I’m doing with this whole parenting lark.
Why why WHY won’t she do as she’s told? Why is she so infuriating?
But here’s the thing. She has made me a better parent, I’m sure of that. Made me work harder, try harder.
She is this feisty, outspoken, interesting girl. She lives by the beat of her own drum. And I’ve got to admire that. I don’t like it most of the time, but then I have to question whether that’s because I’m expecting her to conform and she’s just not cut from that cloth. So I need to parent her differently.
So I’m trying, really trying.
The truth is, I know she is the image of me when I was a child and I turned out OK. Ish.
Happy birthday my troublesome, adorable girl.
We’re going to have rollercoaster ride, I know that, but I’m totally up for it.
And eight is going to be a great year.