Happy Birthday, my dear, infuriating, wonderful Moody Teen.
Sixteen short years ago, you came into my life rather uneventfully... on your due date, no less! My water broke uneventfully. My one contraction I endured before having the epidural, contracted uneventfully. Before I knew it, you were in my arms.
You were a thrill seeker and a car lover from the beginning... The higher and faster you could get in your swing or bouncy seat, the happier you were. You slept with a Hot Wheel in each hand every night.
You grew into such a confident, adventurous kid... If it looked fun to you, you tried it. You didn't worry what others might think, or if you'd be able to catch on.
Ah, and then the teen years came along, and what wasn't to love? I can honestly say that I only wanted to kill you a (large) handful of times (so far).
Which brings us to today...
You keep me on my toes, you rebel, you argue, you love, you laugh, you even occasionally hug, and you live like no one else I've ever known.
I am so proud of you... Not your grades or accomplishments or determination in the face of adversity or athleticism... but you.
The Mother To Whom You Are Not Speaking at the Moment Because of the Car Argument