The days fly by. Changing, feeding, rocking, chatting, soothing, pumping, tidying up. And just as I'm finally ready to collapse on the sofa, you're hungry again and the whole routine starts over.
But I'm loving it. I could watch you for hours. I sing nursery rhymes I barely know the words to, hold the silliest conversations in a voice pitched far too high, and could kiss you all day long.
Let's be honest though: it's not all sunshine and roses. My heart breaks when I see you in pain from colic. Or those moments deep in the night, when I'm zombie-shuffling around preparing a feed and just about ready to give up. Or when you spit out your dummy for the eightieth time, only to want it right back. By attempt eighty-one, I tell myself: "you're not getting this one back" - but I never manage to follow through.
My darling little man, just like your dad, you're my greatest love of all. I'm so grateful for this little miracle.