It is hard to imagine eleven long years have gone by since I felt this boy in my belly. Nearly as tall as me now, funny, imaginative, and kind - I rest my hand on the soft skin that once housed him, close my eyes, and try to remember.
To feel the knees and elbows, the sound of his heartbeat, the feel of the contractions that told me it was time. I watch him as he navigates life, so many changes, so many choices, and I find it almost impossible to remember his brand new smell, the feel of his hair, soft and warm.
Those baby growing, newborn parts of parenting have passed for us, I don't weep for them, only for the passing of time. The quickness to it. The fact that I have no control, I have no way to pause, to stop, to keep life just as is.
But I get each day. I get to watch them evolve, and I get to remember. All the bits & pieces that brought us here. It's been good, and mothering him and his brother and sister have been the best thing I've been blessed to do.
My purpose. My calling. My heart.
