Nine.

A few people I know had babies recently. My neighbour being one of them. Most mornings as I’m leaving for work I see her walking up the road with her tiny newborn swaddled in her chest, and I watch as she has eyes only for him. I get teary everytime I see them, because I’m reminded of just how small and tiny my baby Carter was.

However, as much as I yearn for the days of having an infant, I cannot stop marvelling at just how much fun they are when they’re older. He’s not even talking but somehow his character shines with such enthusiasm, that I find myself in stiches, daily.

I’m not the mother I thought I would be. I have no baby books and milestone charts. I don’t have a Facebook page for my son and I’ll probably never get round to setting up an email address for him, but what I do have, is this blog. And it’s here, amongst other things, that I talk about my son and document his life.

And 9 months? That deserves its own little post. At 9 months pregnant I was huge, swollen, exhausted and riddled with heartburn. Now I have a 9 month old baby, and unlike pregnancy, it is going way too fast.

Carter James, you light up my day from the moment you wake up – all bed head and puffy eyes, to the moment you go to sleep – mouth dripping in spilled milk and knees filthy from play. You have an insatiable curiosity and I am dumfounded at your intense interest in everything. I can literally throw paper bags your way and a new adventure begins. You crawl faster than I walk and I still feel bad for the times when I couldn’t quite stop you from falling down the stairs, off the bed or bumping your face on the table. Funny, the falls only make you try harder, and I live for the tiny gasps and pants you make as you race up the passage for the 8th time, trying desperately to grab the dog food before they do.

It’s almost impossible to get a photo of you anymore, it’s a blurry mess, and my hopes of Pinterest worthy photo shoots have been bookmarked for baby number 2.

I catch you looking at me, and smiling, and I sometimes think my heart could burst. To me, you are the prettiest baby I’ve ever met. To me, you have the kindest nature and sweetest face.

I won’t miss the nappy change wriggles, or the tantrums you throw when I take something away from you. I take it away because it will probably kill you. I wish you knew that when we pick you up and remove you from a situation, it because it’s the best thing for you. I’m sorry you don’t get fruit at night anymore – but momma likes her sleep more than you like your sugar. I’m sorry you ate that moth, wing by wing, before I realised what is was. As for that Marlboro stompie, I’m very sorry you ate that as well. I’m sorry there are days when I count down the minutes until you go to bed. Please know that these nights always end with me standing over your cot, willing you to wake up.

I’m sorry that my love for you will always make me feel like I’m drowning.

So here’s to the next 9 months, and then some. I am so excited to watch you learn, and grow, and fill my heart with so much more.

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I Don't Love You.

I love wine, but I don’t wake up thinking about it (well, not every morning). I love a good book, I love carbohydrates and I love a traffic free route to work. But love you? It’s not enough. The feeling I have for you is so all consuming, so large and so overwhelming, that it scares me to death.

When you were born and placed in my arms, my life changed, yes. I loved you then because I had been loving you for 9 months already. But then, something shifted. I commented to someone the other day that I wasn’t sure how I could ever love you more. That newborns were my favourite of all the baby brands. That nothing could, or would, beat having a teeny tiny thing in my arms. But then you grew, and smiled, and laughed, and rolled, and grasped and connected, and my heart felt like it might explode.

A big part of my pregnancy was spent worrying about how I would know what to do when you were here, and how would I care for you. But when you have a baby an incredible thing happens, your instincts kick in, and although I may not always know why you are crying, I alone can make you stop. Sometimes, when someone is holding you and you are wailing louder than a fire truck, I know why. I know it’s because you prefer to be held in a certain way, that loud voices can startle you, and that you actually prefer a certain dummy over the other. I can’t tell people that obviously. I don’t ever want to be that helicopter parent, but it’s part comforting, and part terrifying that I alone am responsible for your happiness. At least for the time being.

Another big no no I had BC (Before Carrter) was the amount of you that I would share online. But then you burst into my life and everything excited me. Your triangle toenails, that tiny dent in your skull, the one eyelash on the bottom of your eye that grows at a 90 degree angle. And so I share these things, because to me you are perfection. You wont ever remember, but when I feed you at night I rest my neck against your forehead, because it’s a perfect fit, and I run my thumb over your tiny fingers, and massage your Michelin man thigh. I want to record every sigh and sound you make, and bottle them for future consumption. I have even, at times, held your tiny mouth to my ear when you are screaming, because I need to absorb every inch of you.

This afternoon you napped for 2 hours and 44 minutes. I crept into your nursery 6 times to stare at your face and kiss the top of your soft head. There’s a lot I can get done in 2 hours and 44 minutes, but at times I cannot tear myself away from you. When you sleep I yearn for you to wake up and give me that gummy smile. (to be fair, when you’re awake I kinda hope you’ll nap again soon).

This afternoon, when we were lying on the picnic blanket on the lawn, watching dad install a light, you would jolt in fright each time the drill went. I have to remind myself that everything is new to you. That finding your toes is possibly the highlight of your day. Watching you jolt with noises, and coo in delight with familiar objects brings me to my knees in the most humbling of ways.

Every day with you is a delight.

I am besotted, obsessed, enthralled, in awe and head over heels for you.

Carter James, I adore being your mom.

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