It was a pretty sad moment when I had a realization that there is a version of me that my mom doesn't know... and won't ever know. The version of me who is a mom.
I've wanted to be a mom for as long as I could remember, and my mom knew it. If I had the chance to ask her, I'm sure she'd tell you that she could picture exactly what I'd be like one day. She knew how excited I was for that chapter of my life long before it ever arrived... but she never got to see it. She never got to know this new version of me.
The version of me who sings the same songs over and over because it always calms my crying baby. The version of me who worries over every rash, every late nap, every fever, and every milestone. The version of me who celebrates big poops, new foods, first words, and all the new things.
Mom knew me as a daughter. She knew me as a student, as a young professional, and shortly as a wife. But she never knew me as a mother.
And it's so sad to know that as the years pass, I will keep growing, and she won't know that version of me either.
Sometimes I wonder what she'd think if she could see me now. Would she laugh at the things I worry about because she remembers worrying about the same things? Would she have the advice I didn't even know I needed? ... I'll never know, and this makes me sad.
I'm sad that Mom is missing this version of me, but I also know that this version of me is shaped by the version of her I was lucky enough to know. So she never got to meet this version of me, but every day, this version of me carries a little bit of her.
I love you, Mom. Thank you... for everything.
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