Tonight my toddler is in his own room, in his own bed. It’s been 2 hours and he’s still fine, and part of me is so glad for that. He needs his own space, and I crave mine; yet I am sat editing pictures we took the other day and my heart aches.

Where has my little boy gone? The one who would I would carry in a sling; who would cling to my arm at night and wake if I moved away; the one who I birthed into this world and never left his side… he’s sound asleep, in his own bed, in his own room, and I am here; praying he makes the whole night, and aching for my midnight cuddles.

I knew he was ready, at least to try…  but I am not sure I was.

My son brings the hardest days of life, the shouts for attention, the poo on the floor, the tantrums while out shopping and the cries when I drop him off at nursery. These are moments in the day where I question my ability to parent effectively, where I doubt myself as his mum, even though I know I am doing the best I can.

My son also however, brings the most joyous and perfect days of life. He fills the room with smiles and laughter. He jumps and spins and rolls for the pure fun of it. He runs through puddles, talks to snails and slugs, picks up leaves and flowers telling them they are “cool” and “beautiful” and says hi to passing strangers with a smile so big it makes my day. When he yells for attention I know he needs connection, when he has a potty accident, I know he tried, when he tantrums, I know the reason isn’t really the reason and when he cries, I know it is just him learning to feel.

I, probably like every other parent around, consistently question myself, but when the night falls and I breathe deeply, take care of what I may need, and wonder back on our day, I know with certainty, that my son is safe and healthy and full of joy; and really that’s all I need to know.

I hope he stays wild and wonderful for as long possible. Goodness knows the world needs more of his infectious joy.