Sometimes when I think about my family, about who I am and who they are, this is where my head goes. I first remember these little people. I think of this adventure into motherhood as a new thing, something I am just starting and learning and figuring out. Then I take a moment to blink, to look around, to pull myself from the sleepy dream-state I am in and I remember that this picture is the past.
More often I am struck by how their lives run independent from mine. I used to have three kids who relied on me for everything from getting the bath water temp just right to tying shoelaces and fixing every meal. I was that home-birthing, sling-wearing, breast-feeding, family-bed-sharing, not-spanking, not-schooling mom who had the luxury of wrapping myself up in the act of growing a family and making a home.
Now I have two teens and one well on the way there. I can go for months without even looking at shoelaces and they make my meals/snacks as often as I make theirs. When my kids were still little people, I sometimes wondered where all of this was headed. What would they become? What would they make of who I was and the role I played in who they became? I didn't always appreciate that I was still growing up and growing into what I was going to be, as well.
Still growing. All of us. Still becoming, every day.