The certainty that I will never love another human being quite like I love my boy. This love is an inexplicable torrent of emotion...in one breath it's a wild ocean tantrumming in a storm, and in the next it's the soothing equivalent of a one hour Thai massage. It is as perennial as a hangover after too much red wine and as certain as never having enough milk to make proper scrambled eggs on a Saturday morning. Its intensity fuels me, spits me out, revives me like the tender kiss of a high school Golden Boy, and then spits me out all over again. Motherhood has taught me to surrender, to roll around on the carpet playing 'duck 'n dog', not to fuss about getting my feet muddy in puddles, and to laugh like every day is better than a trip to Disneyland. I'm still me, but because of my boy, I'm a much better version. Messy hair excepted.