"Bittersweet Sixteen," the headline on the New York Times' Motherlode blog read today. A post from a mother whose son is 16. And, as you might guess, she is mourning the fact that he is growing up -- and away from her. "This is just as it should be, yes, but my pride in his growing independence is mixed with a very real sense of loss."
And then it dawned on me.
Bittersweet 16? A "very real sense of loss"?
Oh, I'll give you "bittersweet 16" -- and loss that's very real, not just in a "sense."
Today is -- was -- is -- my due date. November 14. 1998. One of several due dates I was assigned -- it kept getting revised as her growth rate kept falling further & further behind the norm. But this was the first one I was given, so I always think of it as the "official" due date.
My daughter would/should be having a sweet 16 party this weekend.
And (even worse) I almost forgot about it until I saw the header on this article. Bad Mommy. :(
In my own defense -- I do find the due date, the might-have-been birthday, generally takes a backseat to the date of loss for many loss moms. (And having three of them kind of complicates the matter. ) I thought it might be different this year, since I am not working & would supposedly have more time to think about these things.
Oh well. :(
Happy birthday, sweet baby girl.