Right before my 42nd birthday, I had my son. We had tried for a very long time and he was a true miracle. I savor every moment with him, even when he's cranky and especially when I'm cranky. I often wonder how much time I will have with him having had him so late in my life.
My grandmother turned 92 years old a few days ago. She is now a great, great grandmother. She was a grandmother at 47. I was a mother at 42. Her oldest son, my father, is in his 70s. I wonder if she ever thought she would see my father become a grandfather, much less a great-grandfather.
When my son is my current age (45), I will be 87. Will he have children by then? Will he even want children? I hope so.
When he was first born, I took tons of photos. No really, TONS. Somewhere in the thousands. Besides probably blinding him with my flash, I wasn't really seeing him. In my futile attempt to capture those fleeting moments, I was losing those moments. My son is three now. And I don't take as many picutres as before. They are only in the hundreds. But the moments are still fleeting.