This morning, when I brought birthday treats to my oldest son's classroom, his teacher asked me if it felt like yesterday. And I said, yes, it feels like yesterday, but at the same time it feels like a million years ago.
As the day progressed, I thought about it more and more. And it doesn't feel like yesterday at all. I can't imagine the world without my children. I can't remember what it was like to see the world as I saw it before my childrens' personalities have colored it for me.
Each thing that I see, each thing that I do, I think about my children and how they see things. I can't see something sparkly without thinking how much the middle one would like it. I can't see a Volkswagon beetle without thinking that I should feel a thump on the back of my seat and a "SWUG BUG" yelled at me. I can't think of an animal without wondering how much more my oldest knows about it than I do. Or a historic fact. Or a scientific fact. You get the idea.
I looked at nine-year old pictures of an infant that I didn't yet *know* and I can't remember. I can't remember not knowing the three of them and knowing how they've colored my life with brighter colors that I ever knew existed.