We were still in hospital. I had earned myself a prolonged stay after birth didn't go as smoothly as hoped.
Even though I was healing well, I had just recovered from my first teary meltdown as a mother.
Overnight, my milk had come in forcefully tripling the size of my breasts.
I had struggled to feed Theo who was screaming and screaming, and I was so incredibly tired. There was certainly no effective communication between the two of us then.
Instead, there was a lot of sobbing.
In the morning, hospital nurse Aileen, a small and gentle woman, fixed me up with hot chocolate, pain killers and her kind, caring nature.
"Have you bathed your little one yet?" Aileen had asked Sam and me.
We just shook our heads. The terrifying thought of plunging our fragile newborn into the treacherous waters of a bath hadn't crossed our minds.
With a purposeful grin Aileen scurried off and returned a short while later with a tiny tub.
I started to sweat. What if we drop him? Wet skin is too slippery – this is impossible.
Sam was braver and volunteered to lower Theo into the warm water. A little squeak and he relaxed, his perfect little body floating in the bath.
That moment felt so wholesome. We were bonding as a family.
You're going to get wet or dirty - or both - every single day, if you play properly. Photo / Sam Macleod
It's been nearly two years, my breasts have reduced to a normal size, and Theo is not so fragile anymore.
The little rascal has more energy than his mother and father combined and grows more every day.
I remember how in those first weeks and months people kept saying, "It'll get easier".
What a silly promise.
Parenthood evolves. It changes as children grow and the parents learn about themselves in this new role.
Our newborn is hard to compare with the boy he is today and he challenges us in different ways.
Those demanding emotions – doubt, fear, uncertainty – along with constantly feeling tired are still my trusted companions.
The difference is they don't regularly overwhelm me anymore.
Yet, there are still tears and sobs – glitches like that night in the hospital when I feel like a failure, like I'm not cut-out to be the guardian I should be for this little man.
While my maternal instincts were well intact long before Theo came along, I'm no ready-made mother – if there is such thing.
There are times when I struggle to keep a straight face; after Theo has spilled his jar full of berry smoothie all over the living room, for example, or when he asks me to read his favourite book for the sixth time in row with the same enthusiasm.
What I've learned in these past two years is that I don't have to love every single part of motherhood, but to embrace it as a whole – to accept the exhausting, troublesome moments as much as the joyful, easy ones.
I can be hard on myself when I know I can do better as a mother – when I fail my own expectations.
But I'm not angry anymore at the woman who didn't manage to feed Theo and then crumbled that night in the hospital.
What matters most are the magical moments.
When I walk into Theo's kindy at the end of a long day and my little boy runs across the room with a yelp and the biggest smile on his face to give me the world's best hug.
Or when he tosses in his sleep and lets out a little "quack".
