One afternoon I glanced at my bed and was shocked. There laid a sleeping baby. Moving around my house, solitary and silent, I had temporarily forgotten that I had given birth several weeks before.
There he was.
Tonight, on my own birthday, around two and a half years after giving birth to my son, I sat in the backseat with that same child. As he slept, I was surprised to see that the backs of his knees reached the edge of the seat. They were no longer too short and forced straight. When did this happen?
Reaching the very final years of my thirties, I've slowed down, but he's different every day, every moment sometimes.
As his body grows, he is putting together words. We talk more. It's pleasant.
"Get out." [of the shower]
"Sit on it."[a chair]
When we spend time with other children, I notice how he is different from them. Other children his age speak in full sentences. Some are less talkative. Some are taller, rounder, shorter. Some are more gregarious, some more shy. Some are wilder, some are more subdued. Some play quietly, others loudly. Certainly, they, too, change moment to moment.
It's difficult to not compare. It's helpful to compare, and other times it's not. I try to observe, consider, and then let go. Are we happy? Are we growing? Are we curious and vibrant? If we answer 'yes' on most or at least on many days, we're ok.