As I lay here, in a post coital glow, my mind wanders – to the fire, that, with luck, is now ignited in my loins. To the tiny cells that are furiously replicating, and hopefully, in a few weeks, to that little + sign on a pee soaked stick. 
My thoughts move from the hope of new life forming, to the little person snuggled in his cot in the adjacent room. 
In just a few days he will be 1. A whole year. 365 days of being “Mama” 365 days of endless nappies, feeds, interrupted sleep, conversations about toys/books/games/weaning/feeding and coffee. Hours upon hours of snuggles. Pinned under an ever growing bundle of love and warmth. A bundle of complete and utter joy. Being Mama has blown my mind. Watching him play, hearing him coo, giggling, or screeching with excitement. 
He’s at that No-longer-a-baby-not-yet-a-toddler stage. The one where he changes a little more every single day. Where he wakes up from a nap and shouts Mama, and squishes his little nose right up against the camera on his baby monitor. He plays independently, spreading toys and crumbs all over our little home, then,when he’s tired, or overwhelmed, or just because he can, he crawls over to me, cooing ma ma ma ma, his tiny hands clawing at my top. The satisfied sigh from both of us when he latches on, and the way time stands still as I watch him feed. 
He’s still so small. Still needs his mama, but also there are days and nights where I need him. I creep in to his room in the dead of night, just to hold his hand whilst he sleeps. 
He is forever destined to be my little boy. Even as he grows, even when he towers over me, a grown man. He will always be my little boy, and my oh my, what a wonderful feeling that is. 

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