The setting sunlight is dimly filtering through the westward window casting splashes of orange, pink and gold across our floor in long stretches of moving color like a dancing watercolor painting. As I lie in bed next to him, I watch him throw his little feet in the air and wiggle to fight sleep. I'm frustrated with him, but too exhausted to get angry. He giggles at his foot-airplane and cranks his little head back to make eye contact with me and an outpouring of love shines out from his electric blue eyes. Suddenly any lingering frustration dissipates and all I can think is, "How did I get so lucky?"

He is the first male to ever look to me for approval, "Did you see me throw that ball across the room, Mama?! Wasn't that cool?" His eyes speak for him, without words. I am only human and I fail him daily. I don't deserve his beautiful being in my life. Postpartum depression made me an ugly person. So ugly. I struggled to get through the day. I struggled to take care of myself. I was angry and lonely and so sad. It made me unable to love him- my heart was willing, but broken. Oh, but how I love him now.

His love is completely unconditional and he loves me through it all. He loves me before I've had my coffee in the morning and I'm grumbling to him as he's kicking me awake. He giggles with a big grin when he sees me walk into a room. He makes me laugh out loud on my worst days when I'm mentally fantasizing about running away (which usually consists of me visualizing a trip to the grocery store- just me and a large sweet tea). He has no standards for what my clothes, hair, make-up or body look like which is a refreshing change. He only cares if I'm wearing a nursing tank top so he can access his milk, only cares that my hair is within reach for him to tug or peek-a-boo out from, and that my body, his home base, is providing him with nourishment and cuddles.

His love is the most forgiving love I've received from a member of the opposite sex. He knows all my shortcomings and I still thrill him. I am always his favorite and first choice. This love, this mother-son bond, is a type of love that I never expected to receive from the opposite sex. I was cherished by my father, I am fortunate to know the strong and consistent love of a wonderful, hard-working husband, but there is something so uniquely unrelenting about the love from a son.

The sun has set now. The shadows have grown around us filling the room with a soft darkness. His sparkling eyes are growing heavy and the house is silent except for the peaceful sounds of his suckling. And I lie here beside his warm body exhausted, humbled and thankful.