Jet black hair and olive skin, with eyes blue as the ocean and the cutest little dimple. I knew nothing of babies when I had you. I gathered they were like koala bears and slept eighteen hours a day (I know, right?!) You did nothing of the sort, preferring slumber lasting an hour a time, and no more than six in a twenty-four hour period. Yet, I felt more energized, having you in my world. Maybe it was the years of waiting and hoping that made this tolerable. My wide-awake child. The black tendrils of hair fell out, and were replaced by honey-blonde locks. You were always full of surprises. I will never forget shrieking in fright in our kitchen when I saw you, grinning at me. I had put you to bed, and you slumbered. It was time for mummy’s cuppa, and to see you standing there-after having climbed out of your crib-grinning at me, was priceless. You were a little over nine months of age. Always in a hurry. You held a family friend’s hand at three years of age as he was near to passing from this world. Your soft little hand in his aged, limpid hand. Unscripted and treasured. A gifted artist, your paintings make my heart soar. When I listen to you practice with your singing teacher, my whole being is uplifted. That voice which starts off nervously, then gathers strength. Sweet and lyrical as a little bird. I am so proud to be your mummy. There is nothing you need to do, say or be to earn this pride, this love. One day I will let this little bird fly and be independent. I cant wait to see who you become sweetheart.