Can I simply love them any more?
It happens from the first moment those newborn eyes open and look into your face; when you know they understand who you are; when those tiny hands find their way around your neck as you hold them at your shoulder.
The first time squishy little arms could wrap you in their tiny determined embrace. The first time they say ‘I love you, Mummy’, and every single time after that they tell you in so many ways.
Some moments are like a soft-focus nappy ad: watching Talia skip down the back steps in her ballet gear, bun high and tight, little skirt flipping, big pink coat done up tight around her neck as she braves a winter afternoon.
Or the evening in front of the telly when Nick finds his way across the couch to snuggle closer, ever so subtly making his way into such a familiar position, still my baby boy, all gangly limbs. Young enough to still hug his mum unashamedly and sometimes hold my hand.
Plus the simple but heartfelt messages in the Mother’s Day cards they make.
It’s the force of my love for them that still takes me by surprise. I wish I could think of a stronger word, one that isn’t used when I describe chocolate and sleep-ins; a word that captures just how overwhelmed I am by the joy that I get from being with them every single day. How I can look at them in those little unplanned moments and feel so proud that I am their mum and they are my children.
I am theirs, always, completely.