The Little Things

Ava is teething, and has a cold, and a cough. She hasn’t cried and grizzled like this since the early colic days circa 6-13 weeks. She has bright red cheeks, massive molar gum lumps, a horrible cough and a tired mummy and daddy. We have dosed up, cuddled, distracted, fresh-aired, bounced, cooled and bathed. Most of the afternoon was spent holding this clinging, precious girl who felt ever so sad and poorly. And it’s tough. My heart ached and I was frustrated and I just needed the crying to stop and the sleep to start. 

We’re laying in bed and I’m desperately trying to soothe, and I feel a little hand touch my cheek. A quiet moment, where her big brown eyes stare into my soul and she studies my face. Traces my nose and my lips and I am undone. A touch so powerful it reduces me to tears of joy and love, a touch so intense that I wonder how I ever lived without her. 

It’s these moments we live for. All of them. The tears, the night feeds and calpol breaks, the cooking-with-the-baby-on-your-hip and the weeing with baby sat in your feet. The grizzles and cuddles to make the grizzles better. It’s tough, and tiring and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Just The Little Things. 



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