catching my breath
There are times when the reality of being a mother hits me out of nowhere with the equivalency of a phantom mack truck. Not in a bad way, but in a “who-are-these-people-who-keep-calling-me-mommy?” kind of way. I’m still wondering how they got so big so quickly! I mean, I still call my own mother “mommy”. This past weekend I went home to Albany, Ga and that surreal moment hit me when I saw my daughter joyfully playing in the dirt... still in her pajamas. Many, many years before I would have been doing the same thing. She was actually playing right outside my bedroom window - near the side where my twin bed still was. My breath caught in my chest from the sheer weight of her sweet and innocent play in that familiar space. She then stood up and handed me a flower.