Before my babe was born, I envisioned days of constant cuddles.
I imagined curling him up in my arms and feeling the warmth of his little body pressing against my chest, and I anticipated adoring eyes looking up into mine as I cradled him on my knee.
But now that the baby days have passed, his cuddles are fleeting and few.
Of course, there are times when he needs to be held, and my arms are the only refuge from his tired tantrums and tears.
But these times inevitably happen when I'm trying to cook the dinner or speak on the phone and so they're rushed through and dealt with and then swiftly forgotten again.
And then, at the times when I'm so overcome with love for my boy that I want to scoop him up in my arms and hold him tightly to my heart, he's happy and busy and wriggles his way from my grasp.
I'd thought that motherhood would bring me unconditional cuddles and uninterrupted closeness but I'm learning that his affection is already bestowed on his terms and that I must savour it whilst I can.
So when my drowsy boy fell asleep in my arms this morning, I decided not to think about the list of jobs that I could be doing downstairs or the endless projects that I could be beginning in the quiet of an empty house.
And instead, I held him tightly as he slept, with my face buried in his hair and enjoyed the wonderful closeness of a cuddle that would be finished far too soon.