It’s 6.30 a.m. and I’m propped up in bed listening to the dawn chorus through the open window. A cockerel crows nearby as a cool breeze washes over me. The dog sighs gently by the side of the bed, his head seeking out my fingertips for a scratch behind the ears.
I can hear the clinking of spoons downstairs meaning the boys are helping themselves to breakfast. I like this new, independent stage of theirs, even if it does mean there’ll be milk and Shredded Wheat everywhere. In a bittersweet fashion, I like that they are no longer babies, and the sense of freedom that comes with that realisation is immense.
Routine is loosening its grip on our days. The days are longer, but fuller. We can go further, stay for longer. We are no longer bound by nap time or baby food or exhausted toddlers. We have three fully-fledged little boys, so full of enthusiasm for life. They’re a joy to share the days with.
We have got dates for beach trips and bike races and visiting friends. Parties are in the diary. Friends are letting me snuggle their babies; such perfect bundles of warmth and innocence sleeping peacefully on my chest. The days are brighter, bringing Spring a step closer every day. Life is good, and a new day begins.