My little girl celebrated her twenty-sixth birthday this week. If you are the parent of an adult, you know the futility of putting that notion into words.

I’m sure most mothers spend their children’s birthdays recalling the birth day. That miraculous day when they left our bodies (but never our hearts). That day when they took their first gulp of air and became another human being living on this planet. That day we trembled, first with fear and then with joy. That day when we had yet to make any parenting mistakes.

I remember that day like it was yesterday.  There was a thunderstorm and Jeopardy on the hospital television, and I was so cold. There were two perfect pink roses, one for mommy and one for baby. There was that euphoric feeling I experienced only one other time, the day my son was born.

My daughter celebrated her birthday with friends by going to dinner and a show in downtown Chicago, where she lives and works. Gone are the days of homemade Barney cakes and backyard birthday parties. My little girl has grown into an incredibly smart, sophisticated lady who needs me far less than I need her, as it should be.

Our children’s birthdays are bittersweet reminders of the passage of time, that life is a gift and a miracle, and that every day should be spent in celebration.

Think On These Things~ Alicia