Happy 17th Birthday, Holly!

I remember the first time I saw your round little face.  I stroked your tiny fingers, one by one, tracing a path along your elbow, then across the funny little folds in your neck and finally found my way up to the most perfect pair of lips I had ever seen.

I tickled you.  You wrinkled your nose.  I noticed your dimple (only one, it's still there, on your left cheek) and then I fell in love with the idea of holding you...my...baby...girl...forever and ever.

I never imagined, all those hours, days, weeks, months, years ago, that you would grow up and, well, look at you now.

But, now, I can't help and wonder, STILL.

Did I hold you enough?  Maybe I should have let you climb the monkey bars, higher?  Did I not feed you enough vegetables?  Maybe I should have let you stay in your crib a little longer?  Did I give you enough attention?  Maybe I should have waited a year, or two?  DAMMIT!  Did I love you enough?

Then, again, you ARE seventeen.

"How do I look?"

As I watch you, right now, deciding on exactly which outfit to wear, on your birthday, all the shoulda, coulda, just doesn't seem to matter, as much, anymore.

"You look beautiful!"

Because, you ARE seventeen!

"Wait, my butt doesn't sag...does it?"

Seventeen years ago, at about 4:30 in the morning, a new mother was born and, although, there are days when I can't help but miss that sweet little baby girl (one beat, two beats) it seems I have also made a brand new friend.

"Honey, you're seventeen, your butt does NOT know how to sag."

Aaaand, you STILL wrinkle your nose when you laugh.

"I love you, mommy!"

Happy 17th Birthday, my sweet baby girl; my friend!

© 2010 This Full House Blog / TFH Gone Shopping

Updated to Add:  Here's the first "Happy Birthday" blog post I wrote for Holly's 10th birthday, way back in 2003 -- nice to see my writing style hasn't changed, um, much.

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