Milk drunk

I think my favourite time of day is bedtime. Mr B does bath time and then I take over and dry Henry, dress him for bed and brush his hair and teeth. I take him upstairs and snuggle him in before giving him his last milk feed of the day. I love how sleepy he is and how his little eyes roll as he drinks. I love that he snuggles in and strokes my face with his chubby little hand. He smells of talcum powder and baby shampoo, his hair perfectly brushed and curling at the ends. Eventually he's full up and his unlatches, totally drunk on milk. I cuddle him in, occasionally get a little smile from him and he falls asleep. I tell him that I love him to the moon and back again, to infinity and beyond, and forever and ever. I kiss his eyelids and his soft cheeks and put him into his cot. It's impossible to be angry, grumpy or upset at that time of night. Usually I just feel grateful. So grateful for our beautiful life and our perfect little boy. So grateful that I'm able to feed him myself and for these very precious moments which won't last forever. I don't care that I'm missing out on a night out with friends, a tv programme or on a film at the cinema. I have all I need right here and I'm so very grateful for that.

My half-asleep, milk drunk boy last night