It is 8.26pm and I’m sitting in bed with a sleeping Freddie beside me, full of momma’s warm milk. I look down on his beautiful little face with wonder; just as I did that first night in hospital; amazed, in love, proud. I’d heard people talk of this love, but I never imagined it could be so strong. How precious, how animalistic is this surge of maternal protection and devotion. My baby boy. I want to treasure all these moments, because I know they are so short … that one day my little boy will sleep in his own bed, will move out and live his own life. When he does, I want him to have had the happiest, most loving childhood I could give him. I always want my boy to look back on memories of fun and laughter; of fairness and adventures. I want him to know his momma loves him so very much.
I’m sure most new mums ponder what they did before they had children; how they spent all that free time … and how they enjoyed that unbroken sleep and lie ins. This time last year I was living in a house share, returning home from work in an evening, going for a jog, pouring myself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc as I cooked supper … totally oblivious to the fact that in 4 weeks time I’d be peeing on a stick which told me I was preggers. Since then I’ve bought my own flat, moved in, decorated, and had a baby! Quite the year, really … my nails are now devoid of polish [you can guarantee baby would cry before it had dried, and given the amount of washing I do, it would chip within hours], I haven’t read a book in months, my legs are reminiscent of a blonde gorilla, my bikini line is like the Congo, and a showers main purpose now is to get clean, not indulge in Soap & Glory therapy. I haven’t worn heels since last autumn, and I caught myself debating which sick stained cardigan was most wearable the other day. No pregnancy book can prepare you for these absurdities … the beautiful reality of life with a baby. Everything, every last drop, is devoted to the wriggling, soft skinned person you carried in your womb.
Yes, I would like a little more sleep. Fredders is feeding every 2hours during the night, and sometimes it is hard to wake myself sufficiently to release the boob from it’s bra. However, as my little boy sucks and I stroke his head … I wouldn’t want it any other way. When morning comes, usually around 6am … he is full of smiles for Momma … so innocent, so delightful and pure. That old adage is proving true, it won’t always be easy, but it will be worth it. And now … I should snuggle down beside Freddie,and pray for the luxury of three hours sleep!