She's becoming an adult, she's clearly going to want her own place.
Probably one where she can have her own room, and not be awakened in the morning by an 8 year old who's determined to play with the Nintendo.
I can't imagine why...
Of course the idea of her moving out on her own as an adult, like other milestones, make me both happy, and sad.
I always knew that my kids were their own people. They have their own thoughts, feelings, dreams, hopes, and desires. I can't live through them. I can't live for them. I can't make them be who they are not. I always knew that I was preparing them for adulthood. For a life away from me.
That said, I always dreamed of having kids, not adults. What am I going to do with a bunch of adults? You know, besides most of the stuff I already do, only with wine. But that's not the point.
That realization led me to look at Karina and Reagan (who were discussing this with me) with sudden clarity as to why these milestones give me mixed feelings.
"You people are slowly crushing my dreams", I said.
I dreamed of having kids, and every step toward adulthood, takes them one step closer to the end of childhood, and out of the dream I had my whole life, of a house full of children.
My kids are my greatest joy, and my proudest achievement.
But now I have to get new dreams! I'll have to say good-bye to dirty everything, clothes in weird places, banana peels under the couch, endless homework, and impromptu wrestling matches on the floor...........
Sorry, what was I complaining about again?
Oh, right. So, while my kids are awesome, they're also soul-eating-dream-crushers that will leave me wrinkled, gray, and neurotic.
Isn't parenthood fun?
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