Ten months in

There's a stuffed lamb on my bed, a stack of nappies on the headboard.
A singing yellow bus, a cardboard tube that doubles as a drumstick, and a bar of Yardley lavender lie underfoot.
Assorted board books are stacked in front of the Terry Pratchetts.
A steriliser sits next to the microwave.
The extension boxes are hidden behind heavy furniture.
A blue potty and a plastic tub clutter up my bathroom.
A green monkey and an orange turtle have taken permanent residence in the mug.
There's an ache in my lower back, a crick in my right wrist, and a stiffness in my triceps that never go away.
There are snot marks on my black kurta and carrot-soup-stains on my white one.
There's the washing, the sterilising, the changing, the steaming, the puréeing, the changing, the feeding, the packing up, the changing to do all over again.
There's a baby in my arms and he's hugging me tight and he's grinning at me with his three and a half teeth and he's squealing when I tickle him and he's kissing me without knowing how and he's turned my house my life my heart upside down and inside out and right side up again.