Driving home on the freeway the other night I was thinking about what it means to be a mom. I had spent the evening helping my son out, and as I left my mind wandered. I thought about shushing him as a chatty toddler, and then missing his talking once he turned 15 or so. I thought about feeling overwhelmed when he (and his brothers) were always around, and then missing him when he was in Africa for 2 years.
It is interesting the way the tide changes.
Being a mom means loving my kids unconditionally but still having expectations. It means keeping them close in my heart even when I am supposed to let them be away from me. It is so hard to navigate sometimes.
Today I told my husband that I wish I had hundreds of specific memories about my babies. Mostly I have a few clear pictures, but lots of blurry impressions. It isn't always the details that sustain us, but the feelings the details leave behind.