Fifteen. My girl is fifteen. I am not sure how that happened. We have rocked and sang and gone to sleep and woken up and shopped for clothes and had talks and laughed ourselves silly and participated in learning how to cook and do laundry and sew and fifteen years has just flown by. She’s a happy girl. She is smart and good and kind and loving and gorgeous. She does NOT like change or mayonnaise or meanness or being called Vicky. She is fifteen.
With her decorations waiting for her friends to arrive.
She had a VERY SPECIFIC cake color preference
A bunch of other fifteen year old girls having pink and orange cake and pizza.
Happy Birthday, Angel Girl. I love you so, so much. Thank you for making me a Momma, and for putting up with me while I learned how to be YOUR Momma in particular.