Motherhood is a journey

I've just gotten back from a two week vacation. Ah, the bliss of the beach, of getting away from routine, of helpful Grandparents.

And the time away offers me a rare chance to reflect. While navigating O'hare airport with my children (and their stuff!) in tow, my two year old insisted on walking the length of the terminal on his own two feet. So we walked, slowly, hand in hand to our gate.

As we walked, we (slowly) passed by a young woman nursing what appeared to be a very newborn baby. I looked at her, and our eyes met. I looked down at her tiny baby, then over at my independent toddler, then back at her. As I looked, my heart took in the brief months the two children represented and I felt awe and wonder at the miracle and the journey; of where we were 30-some months ago, and where we are now; of how much changes, so quickly. Our eyes met again, and I saw that she had followed the same progression as I had, only as my heart looked backwards, her's looked forwards. We smiled at each other, and understood.

It was a special moment, shared with a stranger. We know nothing about each other save for one thing - this shared journey we are on, and all that this journey entails.

Sometimes, frequently, I look at my first born and wonder where these almost three years have gone. Have I missed them? I must have missed them, I figure. The toddler I know so well, and the baby I can hardly remember - where are the countless hours and days that join them into one? Why can't I recall them in my mind, or see all the stages of his life when I look at his face today?

Because I didn't miss them; not even one day, hardly even a moment. I have been there for every stage, for unending minutes and hours and days. Sometimes around the clock, I have been there for it all. And yet, I cannot account for it, I cannot look at his baby pictures and then at him and tell you how the change came.

But I'm grateful to know I was there. I have loved every minute of this roller-coaster journey.