I have a teenager.

I have a teenager.

Thirteen years ago today I gave birth to Trooper. When I went into the hospital in Winnipeg it was the tail end of a cold and strange spring that will forever be remembered for the devastating Red River flooding. When I came out 4 days later it was scorching hot and summer had arrived. Such are the weather patterns of the prairies.  She was born on her due date and has been punctual and exact ever since. She always wants to be ahead, and constantly appears older and more mature than her years. She stood up alone at 6 months and took her first steps at 9 months. By the time she was 11 months she was dancing like a tiny midget on the dance floor of a Chinese restaurant during mother’s day.

She came home from hospital in a bright orange 1973 Volkswagen Beetle named Lolly. 10 minutes after arriving at our apartment I burst into tears, flooded with a storm of hormones and frankly tired and in pain from a difficult caesarean. I was also petrified. Handsome Husband and I were 28 and 30. Did we have a clue what to do with a tiny helpless infant? No. Luckily for us she was easy from the start and we enjoyed the Winnipeg summer days by frequently plonking her into her car seat and under the table at our favourite outside cafe. At 4 weeks she was on a plane heading to my sister’s wedding and the travel bug must have infected her since she has found airport, planes and travel trouble free and fun ever since.

She is loved by everyone who meets her, with her infectious giggle and her cheeky smile. I cannot believe that 13 years have passed since those confusing and thrilling hours in the hospital. She is too big to fit into my arms now but she is always welcome to try. I am immensely proud of her beauty and spirit, both inside and out.

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