Wishing baby days back.

As I lie here next to you, snuggled under a lumpy puffed up bundle of warm duvet and sheets, you nuzzled in the crook of my arm asleep.

Wisps of your soft as silk hair flicker under my breath. I don’t want to leave you right now. It’s our time and I have no where else I need to go. I stare at the ceiling and scan the room, clocking the objects:

The 3 animal prints on the wall. The curtains and matching ABC lampshade. Your boxes and boxes of baby clothes overflowing the rim.

The cot mobile we’ve barely touched since it was placed on the cot before you were born.

We’re in your nursery- albeit camped on the floor with your white Ikea cot wedged against the skirting board on one side.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve f*cked our memory foam mattress by doing this-but our camping/sleeping solution is working for now.”

And I don’t want it to end.

10pm is the time you sleep little man, but nowadays you let Daddy rock you to sleep more than me. I’m lucky if I even get a night time snuggle once a week.

I’m trying so hard to take a photographic memory pic of me lying here, you next to me fast asleep. My phone is no where close and if I move, it won’t be exactly the same picture as I want it to be.

For me, your Mummy, there is a bittersweetness in the air I feel. I choke back tears as I write this because I know our days of co-sleeping together are limited now.

In all honesty I’m surprised it’s lasted this long. Yet you sleep so soundly, so silently next to me, there’s not even a peep from you, and even if you do wake, it’s only for a quick feed.

I know soon you will want your own bed my beautiful boy, your own space, and I will be brave and give that to you when the time is right but it won’t stop the tears from falling.

In fact, I think it will be more than tears for me. It’ll be sobs. I really don’t know how I can do this whole motherhood thing without falling to pieces at every hurdle.

I mean I have no idea how to stop feeding you because I know that I probably get more out of it than you now.

I pray, every single night for your safety and good health, my beautiful boy. You’re so strong and already I’m seeing signs of independence in you. 

I pray for myself, to be a strong and powerful mother for you. I’m overwhelmingly proud of you and your courage on a daily basis. 

How you smile at strangers and wave to cars which pass you by. You’re so happy and connected with the world around you and I’m here, lost in a pool of thought, praying for time to slow down so I can savour you that little bit longer. 

By which point, the f*cking moment has been and gone anyway.

I write like I’ve lost you – yet I know I haven’t.

I know you are but one stage on from the previous, and that every stage brings with it pure joy and even more things to look forward to.

Yet in the bittersweetness of life, I crave for the lost stages to come back.

I float off in a daydream of the early days, hours and hours spent in bed with you on my chest. 

M the dog curled up on my feet. Cuddling you as a tiny newborn, so silently that you wouldn’t wake.

Now our cuddles last longer than 30 seconds only when you’re sleepy, otherwise you’re too busy playing with Megabloks and flicking through baby board books.

Motherhood. My love if I could stop time and pause these days I would.

Every night I look in the mirror when I brush my teeth and think back over yet another day.

What did we do together? 

What did we learn together? 

Did you have a nice day? 

Did I pay you enough attention?

I wonder what you’re dreaming about right now. I open the bathroom cupboard, rub some eye make up remover over my eyelids and recite the same thing I have the day before. 

And the day before that. “Jeez, another day flown by…”

And yet, life does go on.

It takes mental effort and strength to be strong for you my love. I must be strong for myself too.

I must allow the tears to fall, allow myself to feel this depth of emotion and attachment to you, but at the same time know that for your growth and expansion, you need to spread your wings and soar.

But until that time comes little man, I’ll savour you for as long as I can.

Have you tried journaling? Here’s how to do it in my new e-book.