18

I am now the parent of an adult. She’s officially all grown up, at least in the eyes of the law.

What does that mean, really?

Does it even mean anything?

I know that Alyssa doesn’t feel like it means anything. She’s still chomping at the bit for some freedom.

Alas, in the age of Covid, freedom doesn’t come easily for any of us.

I know she feels stifled by me and her dad. I know this and yet I can’t fix it for her.

She wants to make her own decisions and learn from her mistakes.

I get that. I really, really do. Which is why I don’t go check on her at 2am if I happen to be up to see why she’s still awake on a school night. She’s a big girl now (just ask her) and can handle being a little tired the next day if that’s the natural consequence of her not going to sleep earlier.

Eighteen year old Alyssa is a delight to be honest. She’s smart, she’s loyal. She works hard and wishes she had the freedom to play hard. She’s funny and kind. She can be snarky and fiercely defends me against her sister.

She loves with her whole heart and has so many talents. She can sing, play the flute and piccolo. She runs and does well in the high jump. She acts and draws and paints.

She finds humor in most things, can have a good cry and then turn the day around. Her friends vie for her time and attention because she gives all she’s got when she’s with you.

I am so grateful to have the honor of being her mother and watching her grow up into the beautiful young woman she’s becoming.

I want to be like her when I grow up.