He is mine. I am his.

Yesterday afternoon, I followed Georgie around with my camera. He drove his tractor around the house, stopping every now and then to observe birds in the trees and dogs playing outside. He rubbed Lily Rose’s belly and then grabbed his watering can before heading to the vegetable garden without so much as looking for me. These are moments I dreamt of when Georgie was just a wee baby, when he would cry for hours on end and need my constant attention. There was a yearning for quiet times with a book, long showers with no interruptions, movie nights and drinks and conversations with friends all through the night. It’s been a while since adult normality has returned to my life  but you know what? It’s SO much sweeter now. With everything I do, there’s a sense of pride, a mother’s sense of pride, i guess. All these independent moments are now filled with thoughts of my baby singing me songs, hugging me in the morning and kissing me so I can get up and make him toast with jam, counting to himself as he plays with his puzzles in his teepee snacking on rye crackers, little conversations we have throughout the day that make me smile and feel blessed that I am his and he is mine.