You can always count on me to take a photograph. I'll take thirty if you let me.

But lately, I have felt a tugging at my bones to try something new, and to open myself up in a different way. This is: my attempt at a beginning. This is: September.

When we bought this chair I used to sit in it in the darkness of the freshly painted nursery, rubbing my seven month pregnant belly and wonder what it would feel like to nurse my son right in that spot. And once we stopped nursing I thought about how it would feel to sit with him on my lap and read to him in that chair. Now I catch glimpses of what he will look like as he grows and uses that chair for other things like reading on his own, listening to music, maybe just sitting and enjoying life.

This morning we heard him playing in his room but things had gotten quiet so I poked my head around the corner to see him sitting there, his one leg tucked against his chest, his blanket in a bunch on his lap, his hands crossed just so, the light filtering in from the window beside him...

He just looked so beautiful that I ran for my camera, actually sprinting down the stairs and back up again, so happy to have captured this moment. I will hold it forever in my heart.

I was 16 when I fell in love for the first time, and like any young girl at that age, I thought he was the be all and end all. I had no idea that there would be others after him.

He was sweet and kind, with big, light brown eyes and a smile that made everything seem instantly better, and I loved him. For over four years, we loved each other.  And when our relationship came to its end, when it became clear that we weren't meant to be forever, I lost more than the love of a boy. I lost the love of a village; of friends and family who had been so intertwined in my life that I didn't know where I ended and they began.

Often times I'm grateful that I moved away; that I don't have to worry about the memories associated with places, things and people. I spent too much of my twenties running away from my mistakes and regrets. Here in Vegas, there is only Dominic; there are only our places, our things, our people. And all the dust and dirt and debris from my past is back there in Canada somewhere, floating around, unnoticed.

And all that's ahead of me is him, and us, and this family we have built.

I was yelling. Dom was yelling. And DJ kept on crying, like he had been all day.

Some days I can breathe deeply, consciously, and calm myself down. Some days I can remind myself that he's only two and that we're all still learning to communicate with each other.

Today was not one of those days.

We were tired, the trio of us: from battling colds, ear infections, poor sleep and skipped naps. The 107 degree heat perhaps affecting us more than we realize. So: there was yelling.

At four-thirty, Dom called in reinforcements: his aunt, to relieve us for two hours so that we could step out and get our bearings on the day and our attitudes.

We went to the movies. Sat in the back row. Enjoyed some noise other than that going on at home.

And when we got home I lunged upstairs, desperate to catch DJ before he was asleep, overjoyed to find him waiting up in our bed. As Dom's aunt slipped out, I pulled DJ close and whispered to him how much I love him.

I turned off all the lights, drew the curtains shut and lay down beside him, sighing deep from within my bones as he tucked his little body against mine, as close as he could get. His eyes were growing heavier by the second, fluttering shut and opening again only briefly to make certain I was still there, his mouth in a faint 'o' shape, pursed. With a deep sigh, he tucked his hand under his cheek, took one last look at me, and closed his eyes for the night.

I lay there in the near dark, staring at his perfect little face, and cried.

With every tear I released the guilt of the day, the weight of expectations, regret, and exhaustion.

No mama is perfect, and we're all just trying to do the best we can, making what we can out of each messy day.

You finish the last of the three loads of built-up laundry only to find yourself back in the laundry room the very next day, and that corner of the living room that you cleaned up especially for you, so that you could have one single space in your house that you can sit in and not feel like a failure, is filled with toys once again.

Another yearly tradition in the bag: family photos at Christmas time in the Bellagio atrium. So happy that we have done this for five years now.

This age, like any age, comes with its complications. But my goodness, this kid. He has my whole heart and so much more. 20 months is the best yet.

These days it's near impossible to get a photo of him that isn't blurry. He is constantly in motion, something he clearly gets from me, his mother-who-can't-ever-sit-still. This will be one of those photos that he looks back on and says: "ahhh mooomm, why'd you have to share that one?"