I'm Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown.

Recently, while deleting old voicemails from my phone, I came across one from a number I didn't recognize.

When I clicked on it to listen to the message, I heard a voice I hardly recognized.

It was my son, just two years ago, calling to check in from a friend's house.

His 11-year-old voice was sweet and high-pitched, very different from the deep voice he has now.

I sat down with my son and played the voicemail for him,

and his eyes grew wide when he realized it was him.

He asked me to replay it a few times, and we laughed.

He teased me for keeping it, but I'm definitely not deleting

it now. I love looking at old photos of my children, but videos and audio recordings are

particularly special. Videos show us a person's unique physicality,

and sound bites bring back their little laughs,

the way they once pronounced words.

I love parenting teenagers,

and I love my son and daughter exactly as they are now, growing into

their own people, and both now taller than me. But I also miss the baby days, the toddler days,

the elementary school days. I miss holding them and carrying them and rocking them to sleep.

I miss pushing them on the swing set at the park and catching them at the bottom of the slide.

I miss the relationship we had when they were little, even though I wouldn't trade it for what we have now.

What we have now is beautiful and powerful, and there's a different kind of closeness possible when your kids are older.

The memories are there, though, and not just in my mind.

There is a kind of muscle memory to relationships when we grow, age, and change together.

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