Once, I made a rushed excursion to the emergency room with my young, teen daughter, in the very late night or wee early morning, depending on perspective. She had severe abdominal pain, which turned out to be illness, not the appendicitis I feared.
When I looked over the lab work order, I saw they had performed a pregnancy test. To me, she is my little sick baby. To them, she’s a statistic. While I understand that the urgency of the situation required swift diagnosis, contemplating her eventual loss of innocence really punched me in the gut.
I love that my children are becoming mature, thoughtful adults, but I hate that it is happening so swiftly.