Oh my God I’m a mother

The 'oh my God I’m a mother,' thought hasn’t really hit me yet. 7 and a half months in, I wonder what he’ll become, a writer, a musician, a healer, an architect? What if he want’s to go into accounting, well that’s ok, numbers can be fun. A banker, good for security, a postman, he’ll be working outdoors, a policeman, cripes, deepsea diver, cool, teacher, not a problem. Substance abuser? Work shy cad, tramp? I can’t think about that. Look at his little morning face over there, trying to squeeze something out, hicoughing and chewing the naughty monkey, now that I empathise with. He needs a little drink of water, maybe a rusk to chew on and some breakfast porridge. Ok maybe I have been hit by the mother gene after all. He just smiled the biggest smile at me and let out a large windy pop, what’s not to love. When does the englishness kick in, we must teach them the reticence, he smiles at everyone, and pats faces. Maybe he’ll turn into Russell Brand. Oh God!