It’s 4am. I’m sitting in the nursery, rocking back and forth in my rocking chair. Every molecule in my body is glowing with happiness.

Liam is asleep on my chest, purring like a happy kitten after a good feed. I’m gently patting his back hoping he’ll burp out any air he might have swallowed during the feed.

Burping is important – I’ve learnt over the years. Burping can’t be rushed. If I put the baby down too early, he’ll grizzle and grumble, and will probably throw up his entire feed. There will be curdled milk all over the blankets, carpets, floor, chair, and of course me. Not something I want at 4am in the morning.

So I rock back and forth, and pat. The top of his head is nuzzled into my neck. I can feel his velvety, fuzzy hair tickle my chin. His skin is soft and squishy.

And, ah yes, then there’s that newborn smell. The smell of milky, clean skin and warm fresh cotton.

And newborn noises. Little, squeaky breathing. Tiny, bubbly gurgles. And the cutest little sighs you’ve ever heard.

The weight and warmth of his body, pressed against my chest is unlike anything I can describe.

I am a mother and I am totally in love.

Liam at 3 weeks, looking like a stately old man in deep thought.

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