I catch myself looking at his cute little profile as he intently watches TV. He doesn't resemble me much, a mini clone of his dad, but he has some of my characteristics. He catches me looking at him. He smiles but continues to watch TV. I keep looking, amazed that I made this beautiful little person.
Then it hits me; I'm his mum.
It's nothing new. He is 2 & 1/2 but I still get floored that I'm his mother. It's not the idea of me being a mum that's a shock. It's not what it means to me; it's what it means to my sons.
I am his home. I am his safe place. I am his guide. I am his anchor in life.
Along with his dad, I am also his first role model. How I relate to the world will largely become how he relates to the world.
From the minute they are born, they know their mum. From hearing our heartbeat they are already synced to our rhythm. From early days they know our smell and our touch. The sound of our voice can instantly soothe them. The adoring looks from a baby shows they know love before they have the words to express it. They unconditionally love their mums because of the life we have given them.
As they get older, they watch and mirror everything we do. He tries to catch my eye when he makes a joke, in the exact same way I would.
He needs me to cuddle him when he gets an "owie" and he tells me he loves me when I clumsily walk into things. He asks me questions which he already knows the answers to.
He asks for help with making a jigsaw he could make with his eyes closed. He wants me with him all of the time.
I am lucky. I love being his mum.