Sundance called me Wednesday evening, “so your daughter is getting married.”
“What?” (I may have actually said, shut the f@*k up! but I just can’t remember.)
“She changed her Facebook status to ‘engaged’.”
“Yeah, I’m going to call you back.”
“Uh…anything you want to tell me?”
She giggled. (She FREAKING giggled!?!) “I sent you the picture.”
“Yeah, you always send me pictures of you trying on rings while you’re out piddling around…how was I to know what that was? Dude! Aunt Sundance just called me because she saw it on Facebook! You don’t think this news warrants a phone call?”
“You’re SORRY!?! I’m your mommy, you don’t send a picture via mass text and change your Facebook status, you pick up the phone.”
“I’m sorry, Mommy.”
“Well, tell me all about it!”
More giggling, “what do you mean?”
(I might kill her.)
“How did it happen? Was it a surprise? How do you like the ring? I don’t know, something more than…nothing.”
“Well N said, “(Thing 1’s full name), will you be my wife?” and I said yes!” Then she described the ring in great detail.
“Holy shit.” (And not just once.)
“Mommy, why do you keep saying holy shit?”
“I’m so sorry bear, I’m in shock. When that goes away the excitement will kick in, you just gotta give me a minute.” (I knew I needed to rope it in a bit so I didn’t freak her out.) Are you happy, baby?”
“I love you, and if you’re happy, I am happy too.”
(Can hear the smile in her voice.) “Thank you, Mommy.”
“Is there a date?”
“Oh at least a year.”
“And I’m going to go back to school before we get married too, you’ll be proud of me, I made a good plan.” (My Thing 1 is a ‘dive right in’ kind of girl so for her to have a plan is a seriously big deal.)
“I have to say this because I’m the mommy, and mommies have to say the things nobody wants to hear, you are very young and that worries me.”
“I know, but we’re waiting, so it’s OK.”
Then there was the, I’m so glad you’re happy and excited and can’t wait to see the ring next week…blah blah blah. Then the I love yous and good bye.
My 19 year old daughter is engaged to be married! I’m going to throw up!
Sundance said Thing 1 told her at least a year, maybe two…this eases me a bit.
YBW said, “This is the beginning of her living her own life.” (Easy for him to say…his 20 year old isn’t coming home with a girl who’s got a ring on her finger.)
I am so happy my Thing 1 is happy. N is doing a really good job showing that he wants to love her and take good care of her and she is really happy.
He is her first real boyfriend. He is the first person she’s ever slept with. He is more than 10 years older than she is.
I have absolutely no control over any of this.
She is me all those long years ago, marrying a man so much older than me, who was going to take care of me and give me babies to raise…until the world fell apart.
I want better for Thing 1 than I had…
YBW reminds me that she isn’t me and N isn’t the former husband.
I remind myself she is blissfully happy and who am I to try and damage that with my anxiety.
Interestingly enough, I was flipping channels at lunchtime on Friday, (I almost never turn on the TV.) and Say Yes to the Dress (Atlanta) was on…it was tyrant/dictator mom day…nasty, hateful moms who were just horrid to their bridey daughters and I thought I will not be that mom, I spent the last 20 years trying to do what was best for her and part of that is letting her decide what she likes and what pleases her.
I will trust that I did a good enough job…that she’s got the ability to make decent choices…and I will simply find her joy and participate in it.
Here’s the thing, she might be happy from now until the end of time…or it might blow up in her face, but she’s the only one who can decide.
Is this the choice I would have made for her? No. I would have wanted her to live a bit more…to become the woman she’s going to be first before she attached her life to another person. Only it’s not up to me. It’s her life now…the days of little blonde pigtails and Eloise books are long gone, she’ll hit her second decade in a few short months and she is going to make the decisions that shape her adult life. I can only love her and smile at her happiness.
And fight the overwhelming urge to vomit.
Think there’s such a thing as “happy for you vomit”?
God I hope not.