Time is strange. Being a human is strange. I often think about how I grew these two boys right inside my body. I housed them, I kept them safe, my heart beat into theirs at they grew and grew, hands and hearts and feet and brains. I remember those little kicks in my belly, the faintest flutters turning to jerky movements as time went by. My body changing, my belly growing bigger and bigger, my hands running over my stomach at night, wondering and whispering "who are you, who will you be" as I drifted off to sleep.

So I stand there and watch as my first baby walks into school, running and jumping down the walkway, smiles and laughs and a high five for a friend. I think about that woman who told me about how it would be, about how it would feel to have my heart walking around out there, outside of my body. And there he is, the tiny thing I carried everywhere in my arms, the baby who was crawling then walking then running. And I think about being a parent- what it's like to accept the fact that your heart will ache every moment of your life, for the rest of your life. About what it feels like to let go a little more every day- to learn what it means to truly love someone unconditionally.

I watch the back of my baby's head turn the corner, feeling that familiar twinge in my chest. My mind runs along as I walk back to my car, thinking about what his day might be like, hoping he feels accepted and loved and happy while we are apart. I smile and nod at the mama in the car next to me, and she smiles back, because we both know we're in this together- we both know that we've got our hearts out there, walking around on their own. This is what being a mama is. Love so strong that sometimes it feels like pain, with a heart so full of love it feels like you couldn't possibly love a bit more. Letting go and loving more. Always, always more.