These are some pictures I made on Sunday morning. Mon rises and shines along with the sun - he's not familiar with the term 'weekend' yet. When we're not too eager to get up ourselves, we let him play in our bed until he asks (or rather screams) for breakfast. Secretly, I love these stolen moments, when the city's still asleep and all we hear is Mon's cheerful chatter.
Last year, with a growing bump, I started to follow a few blogging moms. They write about the small and larger adventures they survive raising their children, but the pictures always show smiling, perfectly styled kids. So I saw myself composing mini outfits and singing songs all day long once the baby was born - and figured: motherhood, how difficult can it really be?
The answer turned out to be: very, and the daily search for the last bodysuit without milk stains isn't in fact that romantic. Mon is a lovely boy, but he sure knows how to keep his parents busy. I learned to live with drool on every free surface in our house, a day without pee on the radiator is a victory. My morning run got somehow replaced by a race against time to childcare, picking up pacifiers Mon likes to throw around. He's also developing drummer skills, but let's not get into that.
So last Sunday, before dawn, I took my chance and shot a few photos. To remind me why I put myself through this. Here's one last picture of Mon, with wide open arms, a big smile on his face and an even bigger smudge on his chest. I wasn't planning to post it, but I'll do it for the future moms out there. You'll be fine!
The pictures are taken by me (although Mon really tried to help).