Four years, ten months since trying to become a mum and four months two weeks since becoming one

Recently, I've found myself have moments of intense realisation that I am a mother.

They are not overwhelming as such, but it's almost like being physically smacked in the head as my mind races through the years to come and the challenges that we shall inevitably face. Of course I focus on the challenges rather than all the lovely times there will be, for they will be pleasant and not in need of me worrying about them. But I know the information about your birth that you will have to face, digest and live with, and I know that you are a feisty little thing, strong willed and stubborn, as am I, so no doubt there will be clashes there. We have been well matched indeed. Right now you have already come to understand that we are your mummy & daddy, you seem to accept that unconditionally, and every passing day makes the bond stronger between us three. I look at you when you're swaggering around the living room bashing things and pulling faces, and think – bloody hell, you're mine you are. "Mine". I know.

I think I only ever wanted to be a mother, my career has been a happy accident. I took my time getting there for all sorts of reasons, before mother nature even showed her hand. And then when she did, I had to work very hard to make it happen; I had to answer questions that I found vexing, I had to be nice to people that I wanted to punch, I had to think about all the various possibilities of how to become a mother, what sort of mother to be, what sort of child to have, how many children to potentially have. I jumped hurdle after hurdle to get to you and as soon as I saw the first photo of you when it was emailed to me, I hadn't even read the short profile yet, all the years of trying and treatments and bureaucracy and hoop-jumping receded into the distance; they even made sense because perhaps it had to be just this moment in order to wait for you.

So is it odd that I now have moments of thinking... *hit, I'm a mum. This little one is dependent on me. Me. Me who it turns out has avoided commitment, despite thinking I am fine with it. Me who rather enjoys fannying about drinking coffee (eating cake) and doing nothing much. Me who loves being available for people in crisis at the drop of a hat and being socially tres occupe. And me, who worries a lot and has moments of deep fear about dying and the pointlessness of it all.

Err...

I'll just keep doing what I've always done, put one foot in front of the other and trust. Trust what? Not sure. The universe. Me. Time. The ebb and flow. Tomorrow.

You are being an absolute doll at the moment, funny and very loving. You do something new on an almost daily basis and you say the word "shoes" in the most brilliant way.