Lauren is my Baby Girl. Born 7 ½ weeks premature with the tiniest fingers and toes and the face of an angel that matched her brother’s. She came home from the hospital still too small to cry. I would set my alarm to wake her up every few hours each night for a two-ounce bottle. She was a fighter from the beginning.
She fought her way through six years of competitive soccer and the quest for the national championship. She fought her way through four years toward a BBA with a degree in finance.
Now she’s twenty-eight, living six miles away, and fighting the daily battle of sheltering in place and alone. I wonder how I would have handled a pandemic at her age by myself, and I can only imagine, not well. And so we talk on the phone and FaceTime. And I’ve driven over to see her a few times to mix it up for both of us.
I’m thankful for the opportunity to be a mother and witness the transformation of my tiny baby girl into a strong independent woman who can do hard things. I’m thankful for her job and her ability to work from home. I’m thankful for our health and proximity. And I’m thankful to know—this too shall pass.