*Trigger warning: early pregnancy*
Feeding you at eleven fifteen I'm grateful. Changing your nappy and both our pyjamas at two I am thankful. Giving you Calpol at three I do not take for granted. Repeating it all at four, five and six AM is OK with me (for tonight at least!).
A year ago today I found out about you: you were a bunch of cells the size of a poppy seed, two lines on a stick. I barely dared to believe you would stay around until I could meet you, and I tentatively told two people that I thought you were there. I couldn't even be certain and I knew how fragile your little life was and how unlikely to grow, and yet how amazing that it was there at all.
And here you are - here we are. Snuggling through the night with your bronchiolitis and post-immunisation fever, four months old in the morning. Four months after you joined us out here, eight months after we found out about you six months after I came home. One year of you - I can't begin to say how thankful I am for you, the you I didn't know whether could exist, or whether would stay and grow. Meeting you seemed too good to be true, yet here we are. You can never know all you have done for me, all you have taught me, all that you mean to me. I have all I could have asked for.
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