He was happily playing on the couch while I did some chores around the house, but the moment I sat down he hobbled his way over with a handful of cars and set up shop close enough that every now and then he could lean over and rest his head on my leg.
More often than not I experience motherhood as a steady stream of ordinary and same. Individual moments run one into another, conversations and instruction and correction and affirmation caught up in a constant swirl of movement from one thing to the next.
But on occasion, time slows and I see with clarity a particular moment. I feel the weight of it--that in such a small moment resides the stuff of life--trust and companionship and being present to each other.
I can sense in my bones that these small, seemingly inconsequential exchanges--he rests his head on my knee, I ruffle his hair, he shows me his favorite car, I take a look--are building toward something future. What that is, I'm not sure. But I hope it will be friendship, mutual respect, a life of learning from each other.
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