I can't remember my life clearly before Sam arrived - I sort of remember parts of it, as I remember events from my life when other people reminisce or I look at photographs.
But the reality is, there is only today. I look at photos of when Sam was born, nearly 20 weeks ago, and it feels like a lifetime ago. I don't remember him being that tiny, I struggle to recall the reality of the early days in hospital, and have hazy memories of the difficult first weeks and the tough decisions to first switch to bottle feeding and then onto formula.
There is only today. He is asleep in his pram at the end of the sofa, and soon he'll wake up with a full nappy and an empty tummy. We'll listen to the radio as I feed him baby porridge, scrape most of it off his face as he gives me that huge, accepting, toothless grin, and then we'll smile and laugh and play until he's tired and needs to sleep again. I'll hold him for a moment, looking for the cues that he's ready for a nap - him burying his head into my neck, making small cries, and trying to pull my face off - and I'll kiss him softly on his cheek, whisper that I love him very much, and lay him down gently. He'll grumble for a moment, suck his thumb, and fall asleep with his thumb just resting at the edge of his mouth.
My beautiful son, my treasure, my beloved.
