I didn't realize how much I missed my childhood. Then I saw my parents with my daughters.

• Watching my parents with my kids has given me glimpses into parts of my childhood I can't remember.
• Their small gestures of affection have made me realize how deeply I was loved.
• Now I find myself showing my daughters love in many of the same ways.

I hadn't heard my mom sing in years. The memories were there, of course, her singing along with the car radio or lulling us to sleep with a song from the latest Disney movie. But the actual sound of her voice had faded with time, slipping away somewhere between teenage angst and newfound adulthood.

So when I heard it again as an adult — gentle, melodic, familiar — it was an unexpected jolt of nostalgia. I watched as she cradled my months-old firstborn, gently nuzzling nose to nose, softly singing the chorus to "You Are My Sunshine." My daughter looked up, her giant blue eyes fixed on my mother's face.

Did she sing that to me as a baby? I couldn't remember. But in that moment, it struck me that what I was witnessing wasn't just a grandmother with her granddaughter, it was my mom with me.

As I watch my parents with my kids, I get glimpses of my own childhood

Like most people, I remember bits and pieces of my childhood. The bigger moments are the easiest to recall: the summer road trips to my aunt's lake house, the giant plate of nachos my mom made on Friday nights, or the summer evenings we rode our bikes until the streetlights came on. It's those little everyday moments in between that remain elusive. But now, watching my parents with my girls, I can almost feel them.

In a way, I'm transported back to my earliest days, catching brief glimpses of a time I was too young to remember. My toddler begs my dad for tickles, and my mom can't hold the girls without a playful flurry of kisses.

I watch her patiently coach my oldest through making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, or softly stroke the back of my 2-year-old's hair as she sits in her lap. My dad uses a playful "baby" voice that I'm sure he once used with me, and they both created Louvre-level displays of the girls' artwork in their offices.

Their smallest gestures make me realize how loved I was

Of course, things like putting on the girls' shoes or wiping crumbs from their mouths aren't exactly life-altering gestures. But the forehead kisses from my mom after zipping their jackets or the random, silly nicknames my dad gives them add a deeper layer, the tiniest insight into the tokens of affection I was too young to notice.

At times, my parents even call the girls by my name without realizing it, catching themselves mid-sentence. It's subtle proof that those little gestures were once reserved for me.

I never expected it all to be so bittersweet. I've become homesick for a part of the past I hadn't realized I missed. I understand now that childhood isn't shaped only by what I can replay in my mind, there's also the vague yet reassuring awareness that my parents loved me in a way I can still feel to this day, even if I can't remember it.

I'm sure they never realized those small moments were shaping my childhood at the time. My mom is the first to admit that, at age 22, she wasn't exactly an expert on raising kids. (Take the time, for example, that she said she was informed that, yes, she actually needed to wash my hair as a newborn.) Yet, long before parenting advice filled our social media feeds, they didn't just figure it out, they unknowingly created the kind of childhood that would stay with me long after the memories faded.

Now I'm creating those same memories for my daughters

In turn, my parents set the blueprint for how I raise my own girls. I doubt they will remember the quick pecks on the head as I walk by, or the way I tuck their hair behind their ears while we watch TV. They'll likely forget that I sing "You Are My Sunshine" the way my mom did. But I know these seemingly insignificant gestures will somehow resonate with them the way they did with me — they just might not realize it until they have kids of their own.

It turns out that the clearest window into my childhood isn't memory alone. It's the privilege of watching it play out with my own kids, where past and present blend together. The kisses, songs, tickles, and silly voices stick with us somehow, even when the memories themselves don't.

To my girls, they're Maw and Pops. To me, they're Mom and Dad. And seeing them together is all the proof I need that I don't have to remember every moment of my childhood to know how deeply I was loved. Sometimes it just takes growing up, and a little perspective, to finally see it.

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