Home is where the breast is.

I wrote this on Facebook recently and realised it’s probably a good idea to document these sporadic posts on my Actual Blog. So here it is, my most recent tear stained ramblings, fuelled by mum guilt and almost-four-years-old-I-can’t-quite-believe-it snuggles..


“5 months, 27 days, or
25 weeks and 2 days, or
177 days…

Since your last breastfeed.

And still you fall asleep in my arms, your gentle head turned toward my breast. Home. A lighthouse in a storm.

There are long days where I worry I’m not patient enough. Not gentle enough. Not focused or giving you my whole attention. I worry that I am not supporting the enormous developments you’re going through. That I’m not mum enough to handle your intensity.

And every night, we curl up here. You lay next to me and your breathing slows to match mine.

“Time to sleep now, Leo.”
“Just ten more cuddles, please Mummy.”

I wish I could stop these moments in time. Pause for longer and soak up every last speck of you. You’re growing so fast and I can’t keep up. Another day has passed and another night has arrived to make me worry if I’m doing the best I can for you.

I wish I felt like I deserve all the love you give me. I wish every day that I’d done better. Less cross. More patient. Less distracted. More connected. Less anxious. More gratitude.

Then you curl up into me, the way you always have, and I feel your breathing get deeper and slower, and I feel waves of it. Crashing, furious waves of love and gratitude. After all this time and everything we’ve shared, you still seek peace in my arms.

I promise tomorrow I’ll be better.

Love you, Little Man.”

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