Our mother-hearts conversed... her side spoke of a first Christmas, first steps and a birthday around the bend, while mine shared a college letter and a learner's permit. Our voices were full of love and amazement, of our children and this time in our lives... but I could see, in her eyes, the weariness. The harried heart of sitter-seeking and the exhausted wish that running in to grab a gallon of milk wasn't such a production. Was she counting the years towards my independence? I wonder if she could see, in my eyes, the grasping of moments. That I might give up the ease of a sprint through the grocery store for a single last breath of their sweet baby scent? The regret that I did not just hold them in my arms for all the hours of the day... because there simply wasn't one thing more important than our hearts beating in such close proximity?
I am still learning that mother-hearts are never without ache. And that even though we might be years apart in motherhood, the miles between our hearts are short. And the distance between one and eighteen? Try not to blink.