Three months in…

Three months in and I have crossed my own Rubicon – I now (with confidence and pride) consider myself a mother.

Perhaps it’s because I’m now officially in a ‘routine’, or maybe it’s because I know I can do this whole mothering thing – whatever it is I really can’t say – but the shift has been monumental.

It’s hard to pin point the moment when I realised life had taken an upwards turn. The entire process seemed to happen organically. Slowly, slowly, Georgia changed from a newborn into a baby. The erratic crying stopped and the screaming began. But, unlike the incessant all encompassing crying, the screaming came with a purpose and, finally, I could control it. I could decipher her patterns; when she was hungry, when she was tired and when she had a dirty nappy. The in between times became longer and more involved.

Then she started smiling ALL. THE. TIME. There wasn’t much I had to do, either. Just smiling back and telling her how much she was loved was enough.

Then her smile became enough.

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Even now with our disruptive night feeds (yes, they continue, but the blocks of sleep time have increased exponentially to three-five hours at a time) and my lack of sleep, the anxiousness I once felt about being a new mother is subsiding.

I trust myself. I trust my instincts.

Watching her grow makes my heart swell. She’s already started saying things – by things I mean incoherent mumbles. But amongst the gibberish she’s managed to scream “mama” making me burst into a flood of joyous tears before gloating to my husband.

Just yesterday she giggled for the first time. As we clapped and played on the floor she let out a tiny laugh. My heart stopped.

“Georgia? Georgia? Did you just giggle? Can you do it again for mummy?”

And she did. And I lost it.

It was joy. Pure joy. That’s what motherhood feels like.