Last night I lay down with the Young man for a little while to help him unwind after a day filled with socialising, chocolate ice-cream and super market chaos.
We lay there for a while in silence, snuggled up close, my nose pressed to his squishy cheek. I could smell his breath and see his hand wriggling about in front of his face, performing some kind of puppet show only to be interpreted by the grand creator himself.
My mind wandered to the time when he was in my tummy. He was always moving in there. I would lay in the bath of an afternoon (the only place my body found relief from the pressure) and watch him twist and turn, poke and prod. My stomach would involuntarily convulse, making ripples in the water.*
I vividly remember the anticipation I felt while he was growing in-utero, so eager to meet this small human being writhing around my womb. I wondered what he would be like, who he would be.
Three and a half years later, in there here an now, I lay next to him amongst his collection of stuffed toys and very special 'blankies'. Between the flannelette sheets we dwell, watching the puppet show, waiting for sleep to come.
In one brief moment his eyes caught mine. He was smiling.
'Are you happy' I asked
'Yes mum, because you are my best friend'.
In the here and now, tears trickle down my cheeks. Tears of overwhelming joy, amazement and delight. That mysterious mass of wriggling human is here. Right here. I know him now, and he is perfect. And I am his mum.
*I should have known then that he would be a spirited child.
Read more of our conversations