Arch child

You are 18.

I didn’t leave you at the supermarket or lose you at the beach; you didn’t bolt so far that I didn’t track you down eventually.

When you became a teenager you sprayed enough deodorant to kill an elephant and when I complained you replied,

“What does it smell like?”

“Like a teenage boy trying to hide odours in their room.”

“That’s exactly what I want to smell like mum.”

What a force of nature you are cyclone Arch. In the womb you kicked the shit out of my ribs. You couldn’t wait to get out. Now you enjoy staying in bed.

A few months ago when you screamed late at night, I said,

“Did you have to do that?”

And you said,

“Did I scare you mum?”

“Your whole life.” We laughed.

I raised my baby to adulthood.

Happy 18th birthday my Menace. I’m glad the pill didn’t work