I’m watching my children play together. My children, together. The five-year old hides and the toddler seeks. Next, they take turns on a toddler sliding board. Flowergirl exclaims, “Wee! Wee!” while Sunboy positions himself so that she has no alternative but to slide into him.
They look alike. This continues to amaze me as I study their faces and try to define common features. There’s no mistaking it. Brother and sister. Same mother, same father. In some ways it’s so simple.
Where did these little people come from? Let me re-phrase that. I know where they came from. I was there, but it’s hard for the mind to fully grasp, even for the person most acquainted with their grand entrance. The manner in which a new human develops and comes into the world may be one of those things that we know much about and yet still file under “and then something magical happens”. A person comes out of another person. These are not Russian nesting dolls. A baby emerges from a slowly expanding belly. Wow.
My children started in the same place and then met in the world. Found each other. Found me. Found a part of me that was new for me, or maybe buried deep inside (same thing).
Let me try again. At one point, they each were completely unaware of the other or of much else besides perhaps my heartbeat and a few moments of light and shadows. They swam the same sea alone, without knowledge of the other. Then, they were born and they met.
My children are like former occupants of the same apartment meeting for tea.
I wonder if they sense it, their common link. They seem to. There was a magical moment in their initial meeting, as if they knew of their shared experience. Now they comprise a committee of two that will share holidays, commiserate about crazy parents and decide what to do with mom someday. I sense they will do well in their journey together, now that they’ve met.