As we walked, we (slowly) passed by a young woman nursing what appeared to be a very newborn baby. I looked at her, and our eyes met. I looked down at her tiny baby, then over at my independent toddler, then back at her. As I looked, my heart took in the brief months the two children represented and I felt awe and wonder at the miracle and the journey; of where we were 30-some months ago, and where we are now; of how much changes, so quickly. Our eyes met again, and I saw that she had followed the same progression as I had, only as my heart looked backwards, her’s looked forwards. We smiled at each other, and understood.

It was a special moment, shared with a stranger. We know nothing about each other save for one thing – this shared journey we are on, and all that this journey entails.

Sometimes, frequently, I look at my first born and wonder where these almost three years have gone. Have I missed them? I must have missed them, I figure. The toddler I know so well, and the baby I can hardly remember – where are the countless hours and days that join them into one? Why can’t I recall them in my mind, or see all the stages of his life when I look at his face today?

Because I didn’t miss them; not even one day, hardly even a moment. I have been there for every stage, for unending minutes and hours and days. Sometimes around the clock, I have been there for it all. And yet, I cannot account for it, I cannot look at his baby pictures and then at him and tell you how the change came.

But I’m grateful to know I was there. I have loved every minute of this roller-coaster journey.