The other day my daughter was talking about her college options, brainstorming about the future, making plans. I looked up at this young woman of almost 15 and realized something: she is gone in three years. When did that happen? Thinking about this, I found a column I wrote about my daughter eight years ago, when she was celebrating her seventh birthday. And in honor of her birthday on July 8th -- well, actually we share the birthday -- I wanted to share this with you again.

July, 2002 -

God, I loved birthdays when I was a kid.

Who didn't, right?

But you have to understand - mine were the stuff of childhood dreams.

My Dad was my softball coach. Every year, he somehow was able to make sure we had a game scheduled on my birthday. I was the pitcher, and it seemed I always pitched a good game.

And every year, we won. Then came the A & W for the team. And, finally, the grand finale - a slumber party in our backyard.

It never rained. We never lost the game. We all got along at the slumber party.

Well, at least that's the way I remember it.

That's what made it so incredibly cool - so "full circle" - that my birthdays are still so very special.

But now they're not about me.

You see, on July 8th, 1995, Emma Kathleen Hennessey came to the world on my 32nd birthday. Whenever I tell people that my oldest child and I share a birthday, they always comment on how incredible that is, what a wonderful gift she is, and how magical it seems.

I always sarcastically comment that getting a c-section on your birthday isn't as rosy as it sounds.

But then I step back and think about it - about my little twin and I.

Like her mother, Emma will have a life full of music. She already shows a flare for singing and performing, and I can see wonderful years ahead, watching her perform in concerts and in plays.

Like her mother, Emma is incredibly sensitive - both to criticism, and to the joys and sorrows of life. I wish I could spare her the pain that is ahead, for being a sensitive person can take a lot out of you.

It actually hurts me to see people asking for money, or to know people don't have homes. And I have spent my life tilting at windmills, trying to right wrongs.

I can already see Emma headed that same direction, watching her now while she cries over our neighbor cutting down some beautiful old trees.

Like her mother, Emma will always wear her heart on her sleeve. If she has a crush on a boy, the world will know. She already has been hurt by the slings and arrows of this world, laughing at her love letters to a boy in her class.

Oh man, I can remember that happening hundreds of times.

I have never been a big believer in the horoscope. I know, not very broad-minded of me. But there is one horoscope that I always recall.

It was my birthday, 1991. The horoscope said that I should "expect change in marital status." Not a real bet-hedging horoscope, when you think about it. And that night, my husband proposed to me.

The day Emma was born, my horoscope read, "Another Cancer will play a huge part in your life." And oh, what a huge part she has played.

Emma, I have watched in amazement as you read and do math beyond my wildest dreams, perform at concerts, write poetry, have your first crush. I have seen you become a sensitive, wise, and intelligent child - one who is also sometimes fearful or insecure.

I watch you grow, and think about the criticisms we have for our parents, and of how our childhoods shape us. How will your childhood create your future? Will you remember how much I loved you, how much I believed in you?

Will you know about the emotion running through me as they handed you to me seven years ago? Will you have any idea about all of the times I have gone into your room and watched you sleep? Will you realize that I look at your face today, and can so easily see the vestiges of the 7-month baby girl inside of it?

And on this birthday, I make this pledge to you. I promise to not treat you as if you are older than the hills, when you have only lived seven years. I promise to not make you clean, work, and struggle throughout the day to help me around the house - when this childhood is so incredibly fleeting.

I promise to take moments to let the house go, and listen to what you are trying to show me, waving your art project in your hands. And, I promise you and I will continue having our "date nights", when your little sister and brother stay home, and it's just you and me. The birthday girls.

Yes, birthdays are special times. And for many, they mean parties, gifts, surprises.

For me, they mean my daughter.

Happy Birthday, Em.

It's been so nice to meet you.

Lauri Hennessey celebrated a special day on July 8th, the birthday she shares with her daughter. Lauri has written this column for local papers for over a decade, and first wrote this column on her daughter's 7th birthday, seven years ago.