My little one is currently nestled under my chin, milk drunk and snoozing after waking from her slumber teary and upset with that classic newborn cry of hers. Everything had come at once, she’d given me a present in her nappy which woke her and she was hungry but also not ready to wake from sleep.

I took her from her crib, lovingly stroked her little face and hair as I carried her through for changing and then curled back up in bed with her to offer her the comfort and milk from my boob. As soon as she latched on the calm and peace of the early morning hours returned and once she’d had her fill, she unmatched herself, snoring and milk drunk. I winded her and she gave me a belch that Homer Simpson would be proud of before snuggling herself into my chest and returning to her rhythmic heavy breathing.

It’s moments like this that I try to savour, the ones when peace has returned and I feel a great sense of satisfaction and achievement as well as love, because I’ve successfully met my daughters needs and calmed her into a happy state of zen. I’ve provided her with all her needs and she’s comfy, happy and angelic looking. There’s also nothing more frustrating that settling her and tending to her needs for then something to suddenly upset the equilibrium (whoever thought individually wrapping breast pads has not done 2 hourly night feeds then successfully swaddled to sleep an overtired newborn!).

I get the same sense of joy and pride when she looks up and me and smiles, just because I’m her mummy, or when she waves her arms and kicks her legs in excitement as I blow raspberries at her or sing as pull faces at her. I get it when she is upset and the only thing that soothes her is to be held in my arms because I’m mummy and that’s all she wanted, to be close to mummy. I get it when she’s tired and I’ve rocked and shushed her until she finally gives in and closed her eyes, takes that breath and her body goes limp and heavy into her slumber and I can swaddled her up in the Moses basket.

The fact is that over the last 9-10weeks I’ve had some very trying times as I learn that motherhood is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do but it’s also the best. Nothing beats the love and joy you feel for your child, the chuckles you give when they burp, sneeze or trump, the adoration you look at them with and how those big blue eyes bore into you from the pram with that same sense of love, looking at you as though you are their entire world.

I’ve achieved a lot in my life that I feel I can be proud of, I’ve done well with exams and academic courses, having recently worked my backside off to complete a masters, I’ve done well in my career and pride myself on working hard to be the best teacher and head of area that I can be. I’ve travelled to different places, sometimes challenging myself and having the confidence too e away on my own and experience university or work to travel expeditions in foreign countries. I’ve battled through personal issues and problems, over coming a difficult phase in my life where I suffered depression. In my 32 years on this planet I feel I’ve done a lot, but nothing comes close to the pleasure and pride I take in being a mum.

I thank my lucky stars that my daughter is here and that I can enjoy her poonamis, frustrating night feeds and daily witching hour where she cries for no reason. It’s bloody hard work but the gratification I gain from it far out weighs anything else. She’s very precious and keeping her safe, happy and content is my ultimate life achievement.

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