She Looks too Young to Be Her Mom

18 Sep, 2012

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Somebody get me a paper bag and bring it quick! I can’t breathe. As I stare at the ceiling, I think to myself I am officially the mother of a teenager. 

So many memories dance in my head as I roll over and stare at the clock, 5:45 a.m. On September 18th 1999, Cheyenne would have been a mere 61 minutes old. Now she is 13 years and one minute old. The last 13 years haven’t been easy. I think to myself as I get up and scurry out of the bedroom not wanting to wake my sleeping husband. 

Still in silent mode, I head downstairs just outside of Cheyenne’s door. Cozying up on the couch I grab one of her three baby books (I used to be a scrap book junkie). All at once I’m 17 again–holding a positive pregnancy test, not believing that motherhood would become part of my identity. 

That year I swapped my pom poms and school books for bottles and diapers. As I waddled around our apartment before her birth, none of it seemed to fit. I was still a little girl playing house, except this time I couldn’t put the dolls and china away. As I look around our tiny little home, I break out into a smile. Life Is Good. 

Cheyenne (3) Me (20)

Turning the page of Chy’s baby book, I come across a photo that brings tears to my eyes. We were in a grocery store paying for our items while at the same time, I gave Cheyenne her binky (pacifier) when the clerk snapped, “You look too young to be her mother. Don’t you know anything, those things are bad for her teeth,” leaning over the counter she plucked her pacifier from my baby’s mouth. I mumbled thank you while hot tears threatened to flood my cheeks as I left the store, pausing long enough to put Chy’s binky back in her mouth. 

Giving birth to Cheyenne didn’t just make me a mother, it made me want to change her world for the better. And yet I didn’t even know what tomorrow would look like. So I took each day, one at a time to be: a mom, grow up, and learn the art of teamwork with my new husband. And here I am 13 years later with a beautiful girl I’ve raised. Here’s a little secret, her birthday is a little more special than her siblings because it represents the milestones and accomplishments of keeping her alive, raising her and making it this far. 

6:30 a.m. I hear the alarm going off in Cheyenne’s room and the one in my bedroom upstairs. The once quiet house begins to echo life as Cheyenne groans from her bed and tosses her alarm clock to the floor. Grinning I pounce on my woman child and wish her a happy birthday. Right now I’m calm but when she blows out the candles on her cake–I may need a paper bag.

 Dear Cheyenne,

I am so SO incredibly blessed to be your mom. Through your eyes the world is a different place and a new adventure is around every turn. Thank you for letting me be your cheer leader. Happy birthday Chy! 

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