As a single, working mom of a 5-month-old baby, society almost expects me to be sleep deprived and burnt out. The truth is, I get more sleep than I did when I was pregnant.

My son mostly sleeps through the night and if he doesn’t, he manages at least six hours in a row. When I’ve told people, they’ve told me not to tell anyone.

I’d prefer to revel in the things that are easy about my motherhood journey. Sure, my baby sleeps well, but he also has horrible eczema that I’ve cried over so many times.

We’ve both had lingering upper respiratory infections for the past month. He might need glasses.

I’ve chosen to be optimistic. I see his little face, cheeks all red but healing because I found a great dermatologist, smiling up at me.

He giggles at me, even after I’ve attacked him with saline spray and a snot-sucking tube, and my heart is so full.

I’ve learnt that most of the time you just need to accept the things that you cannot change. Yes, we’ve all heard the serenity prayer, but it’s true.

I find the most joy in the very natural moments. How he holds onto my t-shirt as I lower him into the bath.

His little fist wrapping around my pinkie as I feed him his bottle. How he’s taken to touching my face while I sing to him.

How he responds to the song that I played over and over while pregnant. The way that a song from my childhood, full of hope and camaraderie, calms him down, even if I had to sing it non-stop for 20 minutes a few nights ago.

I even love the less cute moments. Somehow, with my very sensitive nose, I’ve managed to navigate some pretty disgusting nappy changes.

That said, he’s only just started solids and I know the fun has only just begun, nappy-wise.

Sometimes I’m absolutely exhausted and my head hurts, but it means so much to know that I can make him feel better by cradling him in my arms. Sure it’s not just cradling, there’s often some singing and dancing involved.

Before I got pregnant, certain people almost seemed to want to talk me out of it, for reasons over and above the challenges I’d face with my mechanical heart valve and being a single mom.

The idea was even floated around that, like another single mom who I’d never met or spoken to, I would regret my decision to become a parent.

I knew in my heart that the only thing I’d regret was not trying to get pregnant. I don’t regret a single thing about having my son.

I’m still in awe of the fact that I have this wonderful little human in my life.

I was told horror stories about donor-conceived babies being hideously disabled. People asked if I’d seen “that documentary.”

I had to trust the fertility clinic I’d researched and chosen. Guess what? Everything was fine and my baby is healthy and looks a bit like the baby photo I received of the donor.

I’m glad I trusted the process. I know some of my doctors were concerned about me falling pregnant.

Rightly so, because it was going to be a high risk, geriatric pregnancy.

My cardiologist was my top cheerleader. We’d been plotting this pregnancy from before my heart surgery eight years ago.

Sometimes the weight of shouldering all the monthly expenses myself gets heavy, but then I look into the drawers of mostly gifted and hand-me-down clothes, and I know we are loved and supported by the people around us.

A wise friend likes to remind me “where there is a child, there is a loaf of bread”.

When the physical and mental load feels like too much, I have people to lean on.

I know that no matter what the world throws at us, my son and I will be just fine. Our future looks bright.