I’m sorry, but do I know you?

The question turned and echoed, fighting its way over the clamour in my head. I saw him, my boy, climbing the rope ladder and I was about to go to him, knowing he had never managed on his own. But look - he’s done it. And I falter in my steps.

Who are you? Your legs are longer, your arms too. Your upper body has a new strength I hadn’t witnessed before, as you haul yourself over the platform. Then you turn, beaming.

“Mummy! I did it ALL. BY. MY.SELF.” You articulate every syllable, words shouted at the wind, head thrown back. Your chest swells with pride and I clap from where I stand. “Bravu!” I manage, but in truth, I’m all choked up.

Sometimes I catch myself, especially in unfamiliar environments, looking at you and noticing, really noticing, how different your face is. Is it the light? The angle of the sun just so? That makes your face look more angular, longer, thinner? Your mouth more serious and your eyes determined. I used to pinch your chubby cheeks and you’d laugh or squirm away. You’d cry when I let go of your hand because you’d have to plonk back down on your patata and not walk like you yearned to. And now look at you.

Do I know you? I can trace every line of your palm in my sleep, lovingly count the scratches on your shins and kiss them away. Every different smile hides volumes of intentions that I can read like an open book. I can anticipate what will make you angry, sad, elated with an accuracy that stuns even me. You’re my son, and I know you.

And yet I don’t.

I don’t anticipate the rushing of time, the stretching of limbs. The solemn tone your voice suddenly adopts, the rolling of eyes (the attitude!) I can’t hide snacks quickly enough before you can reach them or think of creative ways to do so. Every season I hang on to clothes in the vain hope you’ll wear them again come the next one. Sometimes you do - but they’re stretched across that little, but not so little body of yours - and you rightly hate me for it. You’re faster on your feet and in thought, you climb, jump, push and pull with a strength I had not foreseen so quickly. You know which buttons to press, but you know what soothes me the most too.

So I wonder - where was I? Where was I during this time, how did I not see it unfold? I was here, wasn’t I? I was present. Maybe I wasn’t mindful all of the time but I was never very far, even when I physically was. The doubts nag at me, the fear I’m not making the most of my time with you. This little boy has shrugged off the years in a blink and although seeing him grow up fills me with unimaginable happiness, I want to try not to blink.

I want to see you, really see you, more often.

Because I know I can’t hold back from blinking, I know I should be grateful for life and growth.

But I need to pause, especially when I’m with you. I need to put aside everything else and focus on YOU. You, you, you. Because I want to experience every little first with you. Because I don’t want to miss a thing.

I’m sorry, but do I know you? I ask you, a smile playing on my lip. Your gap-toothed grin fills my vision and my life and you laugh. Mama, stop!

I will my love, I will.