This afternoon around 2:00, I looked at the time and then looked at Rachel, patted her on the cheek, and said, "Oh, wow! At this exact time fifteen years ago I was...at work."
"Really?!" she gasped. "What did you do with me?!"
"Uhhh..." I said, miming a large pregnant belly. "I just took you with me."
"Oh," she said. "Right. That makes sense."
Technically 2:00 was around the time I left work. It was my very last day, because I'd so brazenly decided to simply work right up until my due date because what could possibly happen otherwise? Babies always cooperate with our best laid plans.
In this case, Rachel really did cooperate quite well. She only made me miss the last 1.5 hours or so of my work week. Silly girl.
I had her in my arms shortly after 5:00.
And now she's 15. And that's wild to think about. This evening I told her, "You know, I was fifteen when I met your father..." and she about panicked, though it's the absolute truth.
And it's hard to believe that she's fifteen now.
Somehow Andrew and I managed to raise an entire person for fifteen solid years. She went from a helpless mewling infant to a babbling toddler to a lisping child to this person-sized teenager who begs for me to sign her up for college courses. And I'd like to know how that happened, exactly, because I was watching the whole time and I never really caught her in the act of growing up.
Somehow growth is both imperceptibly slow and happens way too fast.
But today isn't really about my parental existential crisis, is it? It's about Rachel's birthday, which was really quite boring. We did schoolwork all day. That's the scoop.