Leaves

I'm riding the train into work for what feels like the umpteenth time. It's springtime and last week I enjoyed the white blossoms in Harlem. Today, however, I notice the green leaves in their place. Seemingly small and slightly translucent, leaves nonetheless. When did the white flowers blow away, I wonder. Amidst the passing train, day after day, the changes were happening.

I'm watching a video of you and I. You, repeating the alphabet; me, cheering you on. And I'm struck by many things as I watch. The way you sit, nestled into me as though you have known the space between my hip and shoulder your whole life. The way I carry 10 extra pounds on my frame. The way I look at you - for a split second I am outside of myself and I am proud of that mother. You can see the love in her eyes, I think. And in a flash I remember - I am her.

I always think this will be year the I will take note of the very day the leaves bud. But I fail, year after year. The days slip by and I miss the changes as they are happening. These first days and years of my motherhood have passed, as springtime, swiftly. When the white flowers of my girlhood changed into green leaves of motherhood I will never know. I have noted so many of your changes, and perhaps half of mine. So many of them seemingly small and slightly translucent. But leaves, nonetheless.