The children are gone

My daughter turns 18 today. Eighteen!

It feels like it was just yesterday that my baby was a puggle. While the eldest was born with the most perfect, creamy skin, the youngest developed terrible eczema from a very young age and looked like this:

Oh, let me rewind, she was born looking like this …

My ex scarred many of our friends for life by sending around the above pic, which features surgical implements (I recommend not zooming in).

Around the nine month mark my daughter blossomed into something resembling a real-life kewpie doll …

The photo above was taken when we were living in New York. Many of my funniest memories of the youngest are from that crazy year.

She was a late talker, only finding her words just before her second birthday. But when she did she was very opinionated.

I remember preparing to head out in a pair of moccasins. The youngest hated the moccasins, so she sat on them and said I wasn’t allowed to leave the apartment until I chose more acceptable footwear.

She also had the most adorable mispronunciations. Blueberries were bloobellies. The Statue of Liberty was the Tattoo of Wiberly. And “where are you?” was “air ah oooh?” (which became a favourite family saying for many years).

I will never forget her screaming the place down at a restaurant near Times Square called Mars 2112. Diners entered via a simulated rocket ship ride, arriving at a Martian-themed restaurant space.

Waiters dressed up as aliens served the customers and it scared the living shite out of the youngest, who yelled “No like da aliens! No like da aliens!” at the top of her voice until they all scuttled away, never to return to our table.

She was also very not keen on meeting Santa Claus when we took her to Macy’s for a photo opportunity.

It is one of my all-time favourite stories about her, so forgive me for republishing the post:

Christmas can be confusing when you’re only two years old. Your parents take you to meet this scary guy in a red suit called Santa. You have to queue for ages, while people assure you there’s nothing to be afraid of (a sure sign there will be something to be afraid of) and tell you to ask him for a present.

Your older sibling has lots of requests, like Barbies and toy boats and stuff, so you decide to ask for another dolly, because you really like dollies.

Finally, you are taken into a small room with the scary Santa man, who wants you to sit on his knee.

There is no way you are going to sit on his knee. He is strange and big and has all this white stuff on his chin.

Mummy and Daddy suggest you sit beside him instead, so a lady can take a photo.

They try to stand on the other side of the room while the photo is taken. There is no way that will be happening. You get a little hysterical at the mere suggestion.

So Mummy and Daddy sit in the photo with you and the scary Santa man.

Eventually, after much coaxing, you tell Santa that you want a dolly.

A camera flashes a few times, you grudgingly agree to give the scary Santa man a high-five, and suddenly you are whisked outside into a dark corridor, where Mummy and Daddy negotiate to buy some very expensive photos of you looking petrified.

There’s just one problem: you don’t have a dolly.

You were told to ask the scary Santa man for a present. You agreed to sit beside him. You asked him for a dolly. Where is the damn dolly?

You ask your parents: “Why me got no dolly?”

They look momentarily startled, then start laughing. 

This is no laughing matter. 

You eventually settled for a snowman ornament. But you’d still like a dolly. Apparently you have to wait until something called “Christmas” comes, which sounds like an awfully long time away …

She’s grown into the most glorious Amazon of a woman …

It is quite terrifying how fast the years whizz past.

My children are adults … pinch me, I’m dreaming.

They are very different people but equally wonderful and they fill me with pride.

The youngest is such a strong, independent creature. I wish I had her bold attitude when I was her age.

She has moved away from home without hesitation and is embracing her new life with both hands, sending my ex photos of her dinner creations each night and making a ton of friends on campus.

She has given strict instructions on how her birthday must be celebrated.

She has ordered her own gifts and had them delivered.

She has also requested there be surprises. A visit to ALDI has been very fruitful, plus my ex and I have something super exciting up sleeves (more about that on Monday).

She has stipulated that both her parents must take her to dinner tonight and has chosen a restaurant on the Northern Beaches. The dinner booking must be at 6pm so she has plenty of time to go partying with her friends afterwards.

She may have inherited a few characteristics from her mother.

I adore my daughter and I miss having her around. But I hope the strong bond we share will keep us close in the future..

Confession: I may have shed a few tears while looking at her baby photos. I stared at the one below and dissolved. I have no idea why a photo of her hooking into a cob of corn undid me.

Happy birthday Pook!

Song of the day: Elvis Costello “She”