I still remember how tiny he was. And how dainty. I used to sit and stare at his sweet little face for what seemed like hours on end. It could have been hours. Time had no meaning or relevance in the early days of motherhood. Even though he was sleeping overnight by 8 weeks of age, he never did settle well in the middle of the day. Often naps ended up with him curled in a ball on my chest, while I lay on the couch supposedly watching TV (catching up on Friends re-runs) or napping myself. In reality I used to just look at him. Watch him breathe, letting those heart-tugging baby sighs escape from his perfect little lips.
I still love to sit and stare at his sweet little face. He’s not so much a dainty little boy any more, but his features are still quite delicate. Childish. Pure. His cute little button nose (from his daddy) his blonde, curled-at-the-end eyelashes (from me), his kissable lips, pinchable cheeks, and mischevious twinkle in his eyes.
There are days like today when I almost make it through, not having taken a single photo, and not wanting to ‘force a moment’ simply for the sake of getting it done. But then I catch a glimpse of my beautiful, soulful, happy little boy, fresh out of the bath, snuggled up in a towel watching his favourite tv show. I stop doing my supposed chores for the evening and I simply watch. Stare. Marvel. And let one of those full-hearted mummy sighs escape my lips.
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