I have been finding myself missing things lately. Not in misplacing things, but missing moments that have come and gone . I’m missing my kids when their arms were still so chubby and small, their little arms straining to give me a hug. I miss the smell of my babies after their baths, so fresh and unlike anything that could be manufactured in a perfume factory.
I even miss that moment of panic you could see in their eyes when you weren’t right there in front of them when they were looking for you. As if the world might stop turning until you crossed their gaze again.
I miss story time- the soft sleepiness in the air as we learned life lessons from the Berenstein Bears. Blanket forts in the living room and picnics at the park. Their pure joy at seeing you after you had been at work all day. I miss dinners around the table, before everyone was so busy. I even miss nights when one of them was sick and they needed to crawl into bed with us, the snuggles being the only medicine needed. I miss being able to fix every one of their problems with a magic mama kiss.
I miss the gapped toothed smiles, and the sun kissed noses with their sprinkling of freckles and the way their skin smelled after a day in the sun. And I miss the blissful ignorance of any of the hardships that were yet to come. I miss every single moment of it.
But I don’t miss it with a feeling of sadness or regret. I miss it with a feeling of wonder. I miss it with the feeling you get when you see magic for the first time. That sense of amazement and awe of what you are seeing right before your very eyes. I miss it with a yearning that’s almost palpable, for those simpler moments in life that we are just too busy just trying to “get through” to see them for the amazing gifts that they are. And I miss it with the knowledge that I’m so very lucky to have had every single one of those moments to now miss.
Memory… is the diary that we all carry about with us. ~Oscar Wilde