That's my beautiful little (or not-so-little these days) firstborn child. She went to her first sleepover last night. She's hosted a sleepover before but has never done it on her own. At least not at a friend's house. She's stayed with family without us many times, but this is a big step.
I resisted the urge to remind her what to do in case she hears a smoke alarm in the middle of the night. I didn't remind her to use her best manners or buckle her seat belt. She'll be fine. It's me that had a hard time. This sleepover comes at the end of a long week that has left me emotionally fragile. Bad news about the health of a close friend combined with the death of a long-time family friend have taken their toll. Your instinct after events like this is to grab on to those closest to you and hold on for dear life. But instead, last night I did the opposite and let go. And I can't wait to hear all about it when she gets home.
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