I don’t remember who my first sleepover was. My mom probably does, and I can guess that it was my friend Renee. She was my first best friend. We were in the same class, in a French school in Montreal. We were inseparable. We even shared our birthday. We had many, many, many sleepovers as kids before I moved to Ottawa when I was 6 or 7.
I’m a girl, and I don’t know if it’s a girl thing, but girls have sleepovers. A lot of them. Not quite every weekend as they become tweens and teens, but almost. Or at least, that was my story.
A month ago or so, Jaia had her first sleepover. It was fairly impromptu after a dinner date with her little pal and one of my besties. We had pretty drinks and delish desserts and then came back to our place to watch a movie. The girls opted for crafts instead. They set up little tables to face each other and began creating enough masterpieces to cover every fridge on our street.
As is the story with 99% of sleepovers, the girls stayed up too late and giggled into the wee hours. And then, earlier than expected, they were up again, taking the spots where they’d been only hours before, back at it, still in their matching jammies.
30+ years from now she may not remember this as her first sleepover. She may not remember who her guest was or what they did. But I will. It’s amazing how their firsts are so much more significant to the parents who let these special events imprint on us forever.