
It’s official. Day 1 of surviving teenage daughter. 275938753948 days and daughters to go.
- I don’t know how it happens; it happens so fast. But you show a shocking amount of maturity. To the point I worry about the ‘parentification’ of my oldest daughter.
- But you’re still goofy as hell and fun and giggly and know how to be silly. A prerequisite in this family and you know how to lead the charge.
- Though it must be said, your wit is also sharp as hell, in a surprising way that tickles me every time you come back with a quip. Not too mean but clever and timed well (though, ok, very occasionally you can be mean to your mom in that insecure way most teen girls hopefully outgrow).
- Your intuition is strong; your empathy is clear. Your friendliness is paying off and you have a good innate radar for people already. Already? I think you always did, to be honest.
- Um, one major development over the last year: we share clothes?! And we got pierced together.
- The thing about raising a high empath during the war… well, I can’t imagine the depths of where and how you take it all internally in you heart. But you have an innate understanding that things need to be done, what needs to be done, volunteering to do it, no questions asked. Baking, babysitting, going, doing. To best tested so urgently, so real so young is not a choice we have but you’ve proven you’re up to it.
An exchange during one of my more melancholy moments early on:
“I should be playing D&D tonight.”
“So why aren’t you?”
“My friends are all in the army.”
“So *they* are playing D&D… just without the dice.”
Ice knife. But yeah. You’re a sharp one.
Whadya got: