holding on

Two and four are the new numbers in our home. The days are quickly being transformed into years. And through it all I study and stare. But still my eyes don’t see them change until they already have.

The evidence is strongest when I thumb through photographs from past days. Each one speaks with an amplified voice, reminding me of dependence. And as the images creep closer to the present, the voice of dependence begins to soften. It’s being replaced. Before I’m ready, independence will be the new rythym to which they live.

This is what I’m learning. Motherhood is an art of holding on and letting go. Not too quickly, but not too slow.

I couldn’t be more than thankful for these full hands. These hands that hold on tight. Because they’re a reflection of an even fuller heart.