She turns 16!

And just like that… she turns 16.

I know it’s a cliché — that line about time flying.
But wasn’t it just yesterday that we were first-time parents-to-be, sitting in a clinic, pretending we understood what the doctor was saying?

Multiple gynec visits.
Nods that hid confusion.
Quietly wondering if we should have paid more attention in biology class.

We fell in love with a dot.
A tiny flicker on a screen.
A heartbeat that sounded like possibility.

How did that pea-sized miracle become this young woman?

I still remember assembling the crib, buying clothes too small to imagine, folding soft napkins with unnecessary precision — as if neat stacks would prepare us for parenthood. We celebrated her arrival with joy and fear in equal measure.

Half prepared.
Mostly unqualified.
Completely in love.

Every year we told ourselves, “Three more years and we’ll start prioritising ourselves again.”
Sweet little lies.

The truth?
Choosing her never felt like sacrifice. It felt like purpose.

We moved cities for her.
Closer to grandparents, to open spaces, to better schools — as if she cared about square footage. She only cared about us being there.

And then came the teen years.
Early. Intense. Loud.

There were drives that began peacefully and ended in arguments.
Moments where I wondered — am I failing?
If I’m the adult here, why does this feel like sibling rivalry?

But I wouldn’t trade those years for anything.

Because somewhere inside those arguments, something stronger was forming — a relationship built not on obedience, but on honesty. Not on silence, but on conversation.

We had imagined these years would be about tolerance.
Her tolerating our nagging.
Us tolerating her choices, moods, slammed doors.

Instead, something surprising happened.

The love deepened.
The conversations widened.
The wanting-to-be-around-each-other stayed.

There are still moments of frustration — and I wouldn’t wish them away. They lead to more understanding, more compassion, more growth. Sometimes I wonder… if the teenage years hadn’t arrived early, would this young adulthood have arrived this beautifully?

Today, at sixteen, we are still learning each other.
Still adjusting.
Still growing.

But what I see now makes me proud beyond words.

Your kindness.
Your compassion.
Your quiet confidence.
The way you stand in your values.

You are becoming — not just older — but steadier, stronger, softer in the right ways.

And if the first sixteen years are any indication, the next ones will be extraordinary.

To my dearest girl,
Happy 16th.

Here’s to new beginnings —
and to always finding our way back to conversation.