September 15

Abby took --and passed-- her road test today. That's right, folks: we have an officially licensed teenage driver in our house.

This shouldn't be a surprising development for me given that she'll be 17 in less than two months AND she's a senior in high school AND we're in the thick of college application hoopla, but somehow, it is nonetheless. 

It's jarring because when I look at her, I still see her as my baby. I see her strapped to Adam's chest in the Bjorn, laughing maniacally at a shirt on a hanger at Kohl's. I see her as the toddler who stealthily escaped her crib and stood behind the gate at the top of the stairs chomping on her pacifier and staring eagle-eyed at Adam and I as we watched TV. I see her as the fifth grade graduate and as the 13-year old who had such a good time at the eighth grade promotion dance that she literally glowed as she got into my car afterward. And I see her as the seven-year old who had to strap on boots that were far, far too big for her as she said so long for now to her very best friend. 

All of those versions of her are still her, of course, because we're all the sum of our experiences and all of those pieces of us --even the ones with jagged edges that cut into our hearts sometimes-- are important and valuable and help shape who we are. But she's definitely growing up, and though it's weird for me to watch her grow so quickly (and it's so, so odd to think about her driving herself where she wants to go), I couldn't be prouder or more grateful for who she was, is, and will be.