One day I won’t feel as tired as I do today.
One day we won’t have hectic mornings where there are two little people to get dressed and ready and out of the door on time.
One day my big boy won’t want to hold my hand on the way to school. Instead he’ll want to walk with his friends whilst I hover behind.
One day my baby won’t gently grab my top as he feeds, feeling safe and comforted by just being in my arms. He won’t look up, catch my eye and give me his cheekiest grin.
One day I won’t hear someone cry for Mummy in the middle of the night, for no other reason than because he needs to see my face.
One day my back won’t ache from carrying around the car seat, knocking into doors as I misjudge the space for the hundredth time.
One day the chunky baby legs won’t be chunky anymore. The double chins will slim down, the dimples on those tiny hands will disappear.
One day I won’t have to carry the huge Mum bag around with me. In it’s place will be something smaller, a bit prettier, a lot lighter.
One day I won’t have to watch Power Rangers on repeat, or Paw Patrol, or Peppa.
One day I won’t have bedtime stories to read, or sleepy cuddles on the couch as night time beckons.
One day I won’t rock a baby to sleep, standing in the lounge swaying them from side to side, patting their bottom until eyelids grow heavy.
One day I won’t be able to make everything in my boys worlds better with a hug and a mummy kiss.
One day I won’t be Mummy anymore, I’ll be Mum.
But one day isn’t here yet.
I’m in no rush for one day.
I’m happy with today.