My son was born in the Spring. It was warm outside the evening I went into labour, and by the time he was born 12-hours later, the city was covered in a light dusting of snow. Antimo is the baby boy I had long dreamed of, and when he appeared in my arms on April 17 2011 it was as if we’d known each other all our lives. I felt such peace. Our love, thus far, has none of the unpredictability and extremes of April. It is tender, quiet and uncomplicated. But life is long, and this may change. And like the daffodils that spring up despite the cold, we’ll be just fine.