fourteen
My daughter was born fourteen years ago at 8:32 a.m., one eye open, one soft cry.
Of course I remember the first time I saw her face. Perfect lips, pink new skin, wisps of golden brown hair… The nurses handed her to her father, who was instantly enamoured. I gave them a moment, then glanced toward a small hospital window. A hummingbird hovered there, tapping the glass. I’ve always said it was my grandma Belen, coming to meet her.
It was just Rick and me in the room. Twenty-two hours of labor, but peaceful. Not even painful. There was no spectacle, just quiet anticipation.
I wasn’t overwhelmed as a first-time mom. From the minute I had her, motherhood felt like muscle memory. I’ve always had that kind of confidence under pressure or the weight of something important. This wasn’t “fake it till you make it,” it was lights, camera, action. I stepped into the role instantly.
She was an easy baby. She took to nursing right away, slept soundly, no colic. Rick and I were young and not especially stable, but we knew the weight of what we’d been given. I would rise to it, and make sure he did, too.
We brought her home to a one-bedroom apartment with her crib tucked in the corner beneath the portraits I’d painted while pregnant. Rick took her blanket home before discharge so our dog, Misty, could know her scent. When Audrey finally arrived, Misty rested her head beside hers and sighed, like she’d been waiting for that moment too.
Three days later, I decided we should take a walk. We put her in a cheap pink stroller that didn’t recline and made it maybe 200 feet before I panicked about her neck (and the very real possibility of my uterus falling out LOL). We turned back. The world could wait.
Rick and I broke up for the first time not long after. I was hormonal. Not sentimental and drowning in tears, but volatile. Road rage and short fuses. Everything he said set me off. We agreed pretty quickly that being apart would be better for our daughter. It was a relatively clean break. The basis of our relationship had always been friendship: roommates turned hook-up turned rebound. We enjoyed each other’s company enough, but for me, it was never love. And in a way, that made it easier. For the first few years of Audrey’s life, we co-parented. We tried, more than once, to see if we could make it work, but it never took.
I thought our arrangement worked perfectly, but I wonder if Audrey will remember things differently. I don’t think her family felt broken to her until she was a little older but as far as I was concerned, she had mom, she had dad, and we were there for her.
Rick and I stayed on the same page. We trusted each other to handle our days. No child support arrangements, no arguments (as long as we were apart), just a mutual agreement that we loved our kid and it helped build that quiet trust that let me focus on building my career and our life. Money and stability ebbed and flowed, but Audrey never went without. I’ve been able to give her a lot on my own, from my own hard work.
Our life together has been its own adventure. Just my Audrey and I… Beach days, camping trips, the zoo, making music, painting, cooking, playing games and trying new things. Sharing playlists and clothes, shopping for makeup, beauty routines because she’s worth it. We’ve traveled to Maui, Oahu, New York City. We’ve ditched work and school to go on road trips to LA, Joshua Tree, even an impromptu drive to San Diego just for tacos. She was never just along for the ride, she was my co-pilot. At one point, between apartments, we slept in a twin bed together, uncomfortable, bickering and still laughing ourselves to sleep. We rescued kittens, moved apartments with only each other and a dolly. Every new home christened with Pizza Hut on the floor and dance parties to our favorite songs.
The years in between have been stitched together with the ordinary and the extraordinary, small milestones, private jokes, the rhythm of our life, until suddenly, here we are.
Now she’s turning fourteen. Starting high school. And I can’t help but think about her inner narrative… because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that two people can share the same experience in completely different ways.
While I’d like to believe I know my daughter and her experiences better than anyone, the truth is, I never could. She’ll carry her own version of our life, because it’s also her life.
Right now she is building one in the negative space where I’m not. Fewer questions. Closed doors. Group chats I’ll never read. A world she doesn’t need me to translate. And as much as I miss being the center of her world, there’s comfort in knowing she’s grounded in herself in a way I wasn’t at her age. At fourteen, I was still piecing together a personality from scraps I thought might win approval. I was insecure, wild and self-destructive. She doesn’t move like that. She’s steady. Sure of what she likes and what she doesn’t. Her confidence isn’t loud, but it’s there. Anchored in the way she walks into a room, in the way she holds her ground. I’d like to think I can take some of the credit for that, but I also know it’s how she’s wired. She was born grounded and wise. I’ve learned just as much from her as she’s learned from me.
We’ve had our rough patches and arguments, as any mother and daughter will, but she always comes back to me. My goal is to make sure she always knows she can. That there’s nothing she could tell me, no version of herself she could become, that would make me turn away or dislike her. And I know my role now is less about shaping her and more about standing back, ready if she reaches for me, trusting her to navigate when she doesn’t.
When I look back, the last fourteen years are a mosaic of moments: the hummingbird at the hospital window, her head thrown back in laughter, her beautiful radiating smile, her small hand in mine, all the days in between. From her first birthday to this one, the years in between have held the most meaning, and love, in my life. I couldn’t be more grateful.
Happy birthday, Audrey. I love you more than every year we’ve already had, and all the years still ahead.