Every time you cry I ask what’s wrong. Are you hungry, tired, overtired, in any pain, wet (or worse)? You don’t reply.
Every hour of every day, I say I love you so much, you’re gorgeous, you’re precious, you’re my treacle, my treasure, our miracle, you’re a wonder. You don’t answer back.
Instead you smile, you gurgle, you gaze up at me, you sleep in my arms, you look mystified and stunned every time we place you gently in the bath, though it happens every day. You giggle on your play mat, you wriggle on your tummy, you feed and then sit up as if punch drunk and surprised, looking around like you’ve never seen here before.
Your ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes.
The folds of skin around your chubby thighs.
Your cheeks, just made for kissing.
Your little hand that curls around my finger and holds on tight.
Your foot that I hold in the palm of my hand.
Your face that scrunches up just before you erupt into an almighty cry.
Your eyes that light up your entire face when you smile.
The way you snore and sniffle in your sleep.
Your arms up by your ears, sleeping like a baby.
The times you quietly sigh, like there’s so much you’re thinking and want to say, but just can’t. Not yet, anyway.
The way a cuddle with you takes everything away, in good times, and bad.
You made us change our lives for you.
You show us the meaning of unconditional love.
You make our lives better.
That’s what you’ve done for us lately.