Time and time again, Ashley and I will say to one another, "I love him." Ashley will be sitting quietly, checking his email after dinner, while I stand at the sink washing dishes, and I will be thinking of Eoin. "I love him," I will announce, and Ashley, instantly there with me, in love, will agree, "He's amazing." We will be lying in bed, and I will be sure Ashley is asleep, until his voice in the dark says, "I love him." I know, me too. Ashley will be in the bedroom folding laundry, and handling Eoin's little pants and little shirts will touch him so deeply that he will have to come find me to hug me and say, "I love him." Last night, when I said to Ashley, "I love him," Ashley replied, "It's almost unbearable sometimes, isn't it?" Yes.

What amazes me most about this unbearable, unspeakable love is, it's actually quite ordinary . I go to baby groups and watch other moms, I watch my friends and my family with their children, I watch parents in the grocery store, and I see this love everywhere. This love Ashley and I feel, with a depth and an intensity that we have never known, is, by and large, what everyone feels for their children. And I guess they always have, and I guess they always will.

From childhood until now, I think that I have had an ever darkening world view. As I grew, I seemed to encounter more jealousy, more weakness, more greed, more cruelty, more danger. And then I had Eoin, and my eyes were opened to the immense ocean of love that floats families. As long as there are children, this love will buoy us, and hope will glow on the horizon.

Walking along the seawall last week, on my way to Granville Island, Eoin and I passed a woman seated on the grass at the edge of the path. I'm pretty sure she was practicing laughter yoga, an exercise that takes the wisdom, "laughter is the the best medicine" very seriously. It works on the premise, "Fake it 'til you make it."

"Ha ha ha ha ha, ho ho ho ho ho, aha ha ha ha ha," was blasting across False Creek. The woman, alone on the grass, was laughing like a lunatic.

"Weirdo," I was thinking, just as a couple of energetic, power-walking women were passing me from the opposite direction. They were watching the laughing woman too, only with big smiles on their faces. They chimed in with her, calling out, "Do you mind if we laugh with you?" Surely nothing could have delighted the laughter yogi more, and she called back exuberantly, "You sure can!" and for a moment, the three women shared a genuine chuckle.

It was only a moment. An instant later, the power-walkers were gone, and the woman's laughter was fading behind me. It was then that I noticed that my face was still pinched in a scowl of judgment. I had looked at the laughter yogi and only seen how pathetic she was, whereas the zippy power-walkers had seen an opportunity to have a laugh. Suddenly, I felt like the pathetic one. Instead of optimism, cheer, and good-humour, I chose cynicism. And what did that earn me? No mid-afternoon laughter, no spark of connection with a stranger - just deeper wrinkles. I felt humbled and inspired by the women on the seawall.

I was telling Ashley about this on Sunday, as we were hiking around Elfin Lake in Squamish - telling him about the lesson I'd learned on my walk to Granville Island. In the telling of my story, I mimicked the laughter yogi. My ha-ha-ha's rang out in the woods - I have to admit, my laugh sounded pretty authentic. I caught sight, then, of my baby. Strapped to his father's chest, Eoin had been listening to my story too. His face was broke wide open in a grin. My laughter had tickled him pink, and he was watching me, waiting for more, and poised to join in.

He gets it.

How is it that Eoin already finds burps, farts, and sneezes hilarious?

My days with Eoin have finally evolved into a routine. As in, I can count on his naps.

His naps have settled into consistent stretches of me-time which are indescribably precious. So precious, in fact, that on the days were I have pushed our walks a little long and Eoin is flirting with the idea of treacherously swapping a luxurious nap at home in his crib for a mini-snooze in the stroller, I have no qualms about racing back to the house, singing at the top of my lungs, rattling the stroller, and in general, acting like a total crazy lady - whatever it takes to preserve my me-time.

The downside to this regular nap routine is, of course, that routine is sometimes synonymous with sameness and rigidity. If I want to preserve his naps and my me-time, then our days have to revolve around that goal. There is only so much that you can fit into the short time between naps - a time that must also include diaper changes, snacks, a bottle, and, unless I am feeling unusually selfish, playtime outside of the stroller. This has come to mean that we are home most of the time, aside from our daily trip to the park.

Don't get me wrong - I love our days together. Only, the daily trip to the park begins to lose a little of its sparkle if it isn't occasionally supplanted with something more adventurous. For this reason, weekends are invaluable opportunities to get out of the house, out of the neighborhood, and preferably, out of the city.

There is nothing like time spent in nature with my husband and my baby to recharge my batteries for another week of nap and non-nap intervals. If we have spent Saturday or Sunday in fresh air and living spaces, then on Monday, I have a refreshed perspective for cherishing my days with my baby (days that are becoming all too short as the end of my maternity looms) and a renewed energy for creativity and productiveness during me-time. And on a weeknight, when Ashley and I are tired and cleaning the kitchen, I can look at my husband and remember that, last Saturday or Sunday, we were by the ocean, or in the forest, and we were laughing, in love.

I love weekends.

For me, as mother, nothing could make me happier, and nothing could be of greater comfort, than watching my husband with my baby and seeing that he is loved, loved, loved, and knowing that even my love for my baby is no stronger.

A friend of mine recently advised me to do some things apart from Eoin. I had to admit that I rarely take any time for just me. When Ashley is around, I usually want to be around too. And when he isn't, there is only me in this city to care for Eoin.

This Saturday afternoon, though, I decided to follow my friend's advice - I went to see the Eat Pray Love movie with a girlfriend. Walking briskly to make it there on time, it felt so nice to swing my arms, free from a baby or a stroller! I held my shoulders back, my poor shoulders that are usually curled inwards from the weight of my baby, and the weight of my responsibilities. On the skytrain, I stood tall and solitary in the crowd. I wondered, behind my sunglasses, if anyone noticing me would guess that I was a mother. I held my family like a secret, close to my chest. Look at me, I mused, pretending to be a single, childless woman!

Arriving home, however, I was instantly Mommy again. Ashley had a jam booked for the evening, so he was eager to hand off the baby and rush out. I held out my arms, and Eoin grappled into me with his whole body - my little monkey. Ashley had Eoin's supper all ready, and as I sat him down to feed him right away, Eoin laughed into my eyes. I think, at the same time, we were both thinking afresh, "What a lovely face you have!"

After supper, I hopped into the bath with Eoin. Then I wrapped us both in towels, and then I coated us both in his baby cream. Next, I got us both dressed in our pyjamas, and I settled us into the nursing chair for Eoin's bedtime bottle. Aahhh. Getting away had felt good, but being back felt better.

It took Eoin fifteen minutes to finish his bottle. For fifteen minutes, we snuggled in silence as he drank, and I let my mind wander back to the movie I had just watched. I had seen the main character living four separate lives: one, married and miserable in New York City; another, as a single woman in Italy, rich with friends and simple pleasures; a third, austere and emotionally stripped-down, life in India; and a fourth life, falling in love and smiling from her liver in idyllic Bali. One person, in one year, experienced all these different ways of living life. In fact, all over the world, people are living out their lives, and every single one is different than mine.

It makes me wonder: why can't I figure out a different life - one that allows me to be with Eoin while he is little? Among all of life's permutations, why does my path seem to have rails, steering me mercilessly away from my baby? And I think, if only I was more creative...if only I was braver...I could derail.

Because, of all the lives I have lived, my life as Eoin's mom has felt the rightest. That's why, on the skytrain, I feel like I am impersonating a solitary person, instead of feeling, at home, that I am impersonating a mother. That's why it is so odious to me that in three months, I am going to paying some woman to impersonate me, while I go impersonate an energy marketer.

But maybe the time away from Eoin will be good for us? Because it will make our time together that much sweeter, because it will keep our faces ever-lovely? Maybe, but the gamble feels mighty risky to me. Right now, when Ashley isn't around, there is only me in this city to care for Eoin. And that's the way I like it.