Yesterday was my last official day of maternity leave; a very reluctant end to 7.5 months of the most magnificent/mundane time of my life.

I have been drugged, cut open and had an organ (and a glorious baby boy) removed.

I have been pooed on, something that I thought only happened in German sex clubs. Babies’ butts become a soft serve machine once they start eating solids.

I have been woken up repeatedly every single night. Think about that for a second. It’s like living at Guantanamo Bay but with more rocking chairs and less bars on the windows.

I have had puke in my hair, wee in my face, and I have leaked breast milk on unsuspecting people who hug me. So many fluids, and not enough of them wine-based.

I have watched my baby boy learn to smile, roll over, grasp things, and laugh. A baby’s laugh is truly the most intoxicating thing on earth.

I have worked. I have done interviews with COOs while Joey covers himself in yoghurt. I have written articles about real estate, and sustainability, and tourism while he watches Hey Duggee. I have raced through projects while he sleeps in his bouncy chair, secretly wishing I was asleep in a bouncy chair too.

I have struggled with the changes in my life, and yet I have been more delighted, more enchanted and more alive in this past year than I have ever been.

Having a baby gives you the most extraordinary sense of purpose. It also completely wrecks your tits, puts enormous pressure on your relationship, and results in more teeny tiny washing than you would’ve ever thought possible.

But we made it. I start back contracting for my old company on Monday so it’s with considerable sorrow that I have to give up even a second of the daytime love-in that is my life with young Master Joseph.