My eldest wants a tattoo. She actually wants more than one, but she will settle for one for the moment. How can I tell her no? Legally, in a few months, I can't. She's turning. Eightteen. 18. Ten plus eight. Twenty minus two. Nine times nine. 36 divided by 2. You get the picture.
She's also in love, a senior, planning on college, and moving out at the end of this school year.
When she moves out, she'll also be moving in, or at least she plans to, with him, the boyfriend.
What? What! What?
Yes, I know, there is an entire year in between. Lots can happen. Teenagers are fickle.
Sephie is not fickle. Not one bit. Gullible, maybe, naive, more often than not, fickle? No.
Ready to move out on her own? She can't even boil water for cryin out loud.
Momma is so not ready for this. So not ready.
What happened to my baby? The one who ran out of the room in terror when "The Great Mouse Detective" began, but would slip back in after the scary part...the one who staged Brittany Spears karaoke concerts in her granny's living room...the one who made the "hood" club in fifth grade, one that everyone could join...the next crocodile hunter (oh, she was mighty upset when Steve Irwin had a baby girl)...the one who wanted to try out for American Idol, America's Next Top Model, and run off to Broadway. She's been replaced by this almost 18 year old wanting to make decisions for herself.
I know she's leaving home.
I know she's growing up.
I know she's fallen in love.
And while part of me is rejoicing, hoping she'll wait til after college to marry, designing her wedding dress, and waiting for my first grandbaby (no, not now! at least ten years from now)...
The other part of me wants to lock the door and throw away the key.