Introduction

It seems that I always find myself telling the same stories over and over again. Stories about my daughter, and the wonderful amusements - and frustrations - and lessons - she has provided to me, over and over again. Sometimes it's about how she interacted with people. Sometimes it's about the hard parts of parenting - fighting, saying no, containing the urge to lock them up for good. Sometimes it's about the blessings she's brought to me. And sometimes it's about the chance to see the world through her eyes.

I had my daughter when I was too young. When people find out that I have a grown child, their response is often, "You don't look old enough to have a child that age!" And my response is, "I'm not." I was sixteen when I got pregnant, and seventeen when she was born. I grew up alongside my daughter; sometimes it was she who raised me. I left her father when she was still an infant, and lived for a while with my mother. Some of my stories are about going through divorce. When she was a toddler, my best friend and her toddler came to live with us. Two teenagers raising two toddlers. It was hard, and it was a blast. I claim them as my sister and nephew, and many of my stories have to do with them, too. Then I remarried - briefly - and some of my stories are about that period of time. By the time I was in my mid-twenties, and she was in her mid-school years, it was back to the two of us.

My daughter is my best friend, my proudest moment, a source of awe and inspiration - and frustration and worry - that never ends. The adult she has become is someone I'm proud to know, let alone be able to claim as 'mine'.

Maybe one day I'll take these stories and put them in a book, for her children to read. Let me introduce you to the Tori I have known.