As I feed my twelve month old son, cradled in my arms, I can smell strawberries. At lunchtime he scrunched pieces of strawberry into his fist and managed to get most of them in his mouth. The rest fell onto his doggy T-shirt and his pale blue shorts, no longer just pale blue.
I look at that chubby fist now grabbing onto my blouse. I can't believe he is mine.
He has just woken up from his afternoon nap. He's still sleepy. There are pink marks on his beautiful face. He must have slept with his hand by his head. He has been sweating. His hair sits in damp curls against his neck.
Early September sunshine dapples through the trees and dances on his blond head. It illuminates his long eye lashes - wasted on a boy!
He is in a trance, gulping the warm milk. His nose twitches as he drinks, like a little rabbit. I can see the shape of a dolphin in his ear. This has fascinated me since I first noticed it, a few days after he was born.
He has had his fill of milk and pulls away. I gently wipe the trickle of milk that dribbles down his chin. He gives me a gummy, satisfied smile. Two bottom teeth are now visible. He won't be a baby for much longer, but he'll always be my baby.