This Friday is a milestone for our family.
R is turning 13. Our baby's a teenager. Thirteen years since we entered into this adventure called parenting, wondering how in the world we could be parents and feeling more than just a little overwhelmed. Thirteen years since D thought he was going to lose me after complications, and thirteen years since I was blown away by God's care for us. I still get goosebumps when I remember goaliemom's experience.
And on Friday, that wee baby who is now tall, slim and a natural beauty goes away for a week to North Carolina. She's not going to a local summer camp to soak up the sun and play, she's not going to learn new sports or going to arts camp. She's excited to be going to spend a week working with World Changers, doing hands-on construction projects for needy people. She will be hot, and tired, and she knows it - but still she looks forward to going.
I think she's more mature at 13 than I was.
But I am firmly in denial. She's still my little girl, even if she is growing up.