It was 3:34am, during our first middle of the night feed, and I had yet to be alone with my little guy. Family and nurses had been in and out all evening long: checking monitors, squealing at his cuteness, measuring our stats.  It had been a blur of love and joy and excitement. But at this hour, all was calm. Chris was napping on the hospital couch in the little room next to me, and it was just me and Ry.

I remember it all sinking in: this little bundle, this life, was forever nudged into every nook and cranny of my heart. Feeling his chest move up and down, listening to his little newborn sighs, and watching the way his hands curled oh so tight. He was here, and he was ours: made out of every laugh, smile, snuggle, and trial of 3.5 years of marriage and counting. I held my breath and snapped a photo.

Last night, we laid on the floor of his nursery and looked at the stars cast on the walls, as we have every night for the past week before bed. He cooed and smiled, held my fingers, and snuggled up tight, and all was right in the world.

One hundred and twenty-three days ago, I became his momma, and what an absolute gift it is to be.