A year today...

The 7th January last year was the first day of the Spring term and it meant an early start. Mr B didn't have such an early start but he was rudely awoken by his crazy wife hitting him in the face with a plastic stick. 

"Can you see the second line? Can you? Can you?" she said in the darkness...he turned the bedside lamp on and squinted. 

"No" he replied. "There's definitely only one."

The 7th of January is where it all started! With the faintest of faint lines at 6am as I got ready for work. I spent every break I had during the day looking at this very photo, zooming in, changing it to black and white...I didn't dare believe it. Rob was sent to Boots on the way home from work to buy some expensive tests ("11 f****** quid for a piece of plastic that you're going to wee on!!?!") which confirmed it later that night. Our baby was only 3mm long, but his brain was already beginning to form. The very start of our Pigwidgeon. Back then I didn't know how sick I'd feel in a matter of days, I didn't know how much my hips and back would ache in a matter of months, how many berries I would manage to eat in the next few months, how many adverts I would cry at, how much I could love someone I'd never even met.

I didn't find pregnancy easy. I felt fat. I felt horribly sick for weeks. I had aches all over. I had nose bleeds all the time. I didn't sleep well at all. I worried about every little thing.

Yet at the same time I absolutely loved it. I loved going to bed at night and holding my baby, albeit beneath a layer of skin. I loved feeling him kick and flip over. I loved hearing his heartbeat at our midwife appointments. I've never loved his Daddy more than when his eyes filled up with tears at our first scan as his tiny baby leapt around on a screen in front of us...Henry was soon nicknamed "The Jumping Bean" and later on, "Borkis".

And finally the day came to meet him. After 32 long, painful hours but only 3 big pushes , he made an appearance screaming his little head off. Instantly the pain was replaced by almighty love and I realised my life would never be the same again. I felt complete. That hour, lying skin to skin with my baby was, without doubt, the best hour of my life.

Then we brought him home with a huge feeling of responsibility, and for the last 16 weeks he has filled our lives with absolute joy. Of course it hasn't been easy, there have been tears (not just Henry's), there have been many sleepless nights, the house has been a mess and I have worried more than ever before. I don't think the worry will ever end.

So, a year on, I want to say a huge thank you to my body for creating and carrying my tiny boy and for providing him with milk to help him to grow big and strong.

Thank you to my amazing husband for the late night Tesco runs (usually for berries). For making me feel beautiful, even with an enormous tummy and fat feet. For the countless breakfasts in bed. For the gallons of orange squash that you've made while I've been breastfeeding. For coming to every appointment and scan and being there to hold my hand when the pain got tough at the end. And for loving our little family as much as I do.

My mum often tells the story about when I was born. My mum's cousin, my Auntie Shiela, was the first to visit in hospital and her very first words were: "Isn't God good?" How right she was...