Firsts and lasts in 18 years (Happy Birthday)

Dear N,

We are right on the cusp of your 18th birthday; a little under 24 hours to be exact. This time 18 years ago, I was hoping to have a natural birth. I was also so in need of medication for anxiety that I was pretty certain I would not actually bring home a live baby. 

Did I ever tell you the story of how I asked, when your dad and I bought your crib furniture, if I could return the items if the baby....you....died?

Thank your lucky stars I got medicated some 7 months after your birth.

My life changed in so many ways when you were born.

It was the last time I worked full-time.

It was the first time I felt completely unable to cope with the responsibility set before me (you did not come with a manual or a lifetime supply of "chill pills for mom.").

It was the first event that sparked a series of other events that led me to understand I had long had mental health issues.

You, however, were an easy baby, and thank goodness, because I doubt I could have handled anything else.

When I look at you now, I remember conversations I had with Daddy about what you might look like or be like when you "grew up," and now here you are....actually all the fuck grown up. (Sorry for the cussing, but, my god, HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?)

I could not be more proud of the young woman you are, and it has nothing to do with your smarts or your grades or your accomplishments. 

It has everything to do with your genuine niceness. You are simply a good person. You've never been a "mean" girl. You've not isolated others with snobbery. You've taken the lead on the high road more times than I can count. 

You are trustworthy and honest. You are reliable. People know you will do what you say you will do. 

When Daddy and I brought you home that first night, a night I remember distinctly because I DID NOT KNOW WHAT THE FUCK TO DO, I could not imagine that I would be typing this 18 years later. I could not imagine that you would be as awesome as you are. I hoped you would be awesome, but I didn't know what you might become. 

Did.not.know.what.the.fuck.I.was.doing.

I don't say it anywhere near often enough, but I am so proud of you. Not for what you've done, but for who you are. 

Your birthday always reminds me of firsts and lasts that I experienced around your birth. It was a big transitional period for me, and it took me years to adjust. Fortunately, you're not the worse for it. 

Since you didn't get a Sweet 16 due to COVID, and you didn't get a 17th party also due to COVID, I hope you have a fun time this weekend thoroughly enjoying yourself. 

You will always, always, always be my most favorite daughter and the first of my three greatest life blessings.

I love you,

Mom

So much upper middle class complaining

Complaining is the human condition. I, myself, could win an Olympic gold medal in complaining. 

But even when I complain, I am almost always well aware that I have it far, far better than lots of other people. I make an intentional point to remind myself of this as soon as I notice myself complaining. 

I think part of this is because I read widely, and that helps put me in other people's shoes. I also think being a substitute teacher and working with every kind of kid in this city--the riches, the poorest, the smartest, the dumbest, the most motivated and the least--helps keep it real. 

When I complained today to a friend because I had an interview scheduled for a magazine article and the person didn't answer when I called at our scheduled time, I said while complaining, "And I know this is minor because I can clean my bathrooms while I wait for this person to return my call. This is a cushy job I can do from home that pays well." 

Social media is the worst when it comes to complaining, and I admit I'm just as bad as anyone else about using it as my personal venting arena. When I do complain, I try to at least make it funny and acknowledge my own bullshit ridiculousness. 

Like how I hate it when people complain about teachers and act like kids are teachers' problems from 9-3 but then when I have to take my cats to the vet for their shots, I'm all, "THESE FUCKING CATS ARE YA'LLS PROBLEM NOW."

What sticks in my craw is when people, mostly in my neighborhood, use our neighborhood FB page to bitch about the dumbest stuff. While I can see their point, it just gets excessive and makes me think some of these people need to get hobbies.

Like the older gentleman who updates regularly on how late the mail is. One week, I think he posted every day about the mail not coming. This was a couple weeks ago when everyone and their grandma was sick with Omicron. On about day 4, he said he had finally gotten through to someone at the local PO and that our periodicals wouldn't be delivered for awhile.

And my response to this is YOU ARE BITCHING EVERY DAY BECAUSE YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR TIME MAGAZINE????

I mean, I get it. Yes, it is lowercase frustrating. And it would be uppercase frustrating if you are waiting on a Social Security check or medication. But a magazine? 

C'mon, man. 

I went to our HOA meeting on Monday that lasted from 6:30-9:00 (which is bullshit), and lots of people were complaining about their water and sewer bill. 

Our family's most recent bill was $222. This is for two months and covers WATER and SEWER. If I divide this amount by 60 days, it comes to $3.74 per day to have clean water and no raw sewage in our house or yard. Per person that is 75 cents a day.

I AM FUCKING THRILLED TO PAY UNDER $4 A DAY FOR CLEAN WATER AND NO POOP OR URINE IN MY HOUSE, thank you very much. 

For $4 a day, my family is avoiding cholera and dysentery and typhoid and god knows what else. 

That is a freaking bargain in my book. 

And the thing about people in my neighborhood complaining is that some of them spend more than $4 a day on coffee. (Or their Time magazine)

They live in houses that cost upwards of $350,000. 

And they are complaining about spending 75 cents a day for clean running water and no raw sewage. 

I'm reading a book right now about a boy and his brother who spent something like 15 years living in a refugee camp in Kenya because of nonstop war in their home of Somalia. 

And that is all I need to do to thank heavens that I am able to pay under $4 a day for clean running water and no raw sewage.