"During this time the thought of her own mother often came to her; she couldn't remember her mother except as an aging and melancholy woman. But she too had once been young, when she lay and warmed herself with the heat of her own body; her mother's body and soul had also been marked in her youth by carrying and giving birth to her children. And doubtless she hadn't given it any more thought than Kristin had when she sat with the sweet young life at her breast--that as long as they both should live, each day would take the child farther and farther away from her arms." (Sigrid Undset, Kristin Lavransdatter)
I'm realizing more and more that I no longer have a baby in my house. Rather, I have a young boy, who has the ability to imagine and create, who has desires and ideas of his own making, and who can experience a plethora of complex emotions and respond with empathy to another's sadness. Without even noticing what was happening, my son grew into a boy who can converse with me about the day's events, count to twenty, and supply the appropriate words from the Creed, Lord's Prayer, and Evening Prayer that I leave out.
I find joy at every turn; but ah, to hold a sweet young life at my breast once more!