Have you ever watched your child walk up to a similarly dressed adult and they grab onto this stranger in a way that only a under three feet tall person can? A small arm slides into an inner thigh and wraps itself around one leg.
There's that moment of awkward realization where the adult and the child look at each other and discover that neither is who the other expected. I miss those moments.
My kids have reached a height where I no longer have to move my body to reach them. I can kiss the tops of their heads when we hug. In parenting years, I am mere moments away from looking them straight in the eye.
When my kids used to do that, I stare at the other mother and try to figure out what it was that had drawn my child to them. I'd try to find myself in the other woman. I'd be so happy if the woman was in my eyes pretty. Or skinny. Or fashionably dressed. I realize now, of course, that it was more than likely the unmistakable draw of the wildly popular and characteristically forgiving black stretch yoga pant.