My baby girl is eighteen!
And homeless.
I must remember to apologise to her for this unfortunate fact.
Eighteen years ago, a scrawny little Seymour was born, all spindly and fragile. She was an excellent baby, and not much trouble at all. And now here she is – an adult! As tall as me, much more clever and really very good company.
We plan to celebrate for the whole summer. There are festivals and holidays to look forward to. Cafe trips and takeaways. We had a celebratory meal on Sunday, with another planned for tomorrow. There was a (near disastrous*) trip to the theatre last night. So we are going all out.
This may or may not compensate my new adult person for the fact that we have sold her home, and are begging lodgings wherever we can until our new house is ready for us. The new house doesn’t look like it will be ready for us any time soon…
But we stay positive! We smile and we know that we’ll never, ever take having a house of our own for granted. Surely that is an eighteenth birthday gift in itself..?
(Sorry Pandypops.Love you.)
*Update to follow, when I can face it.
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