“I had a dream that you started smoking again,” my daughter told me last night. “I was really mad and yelled at you.”
“I have no interest in starting up smoking again,” I reassured her.
My daughter turned 20 last week. There was no way for me to stop it from happening. You know, the passage of time and whatnot.
I can still remember waiting for her to finally weigh 8 lbs. Those two weeks felt like forever. She was only 5 lbs when she was born prematurely by four and a half weeks. She was so tiny that you could hold her with one hand.
She’s been wanting me to quit smoking since she was little. I know that my decision has made her happy and I’m glad. It’s like my little birthday gift to her.
Does that look more like waffles to you than a cake?
Not like it really matters, because I’m not sharing. (Unless you ask nicely.)