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Sitting on the armchair in my children’s room at 11.26pm. Letting my youngest sleep on my chest as she has been quite wakeful for the last 40 mins. Is it that she’s too hot? Cold? Hungry? Too full? Gassy? Lonely? Who knows. But I’ve put her back to bed like 3 times already.

Every now and then one of my bigger kids mutters or shouts something in their sleep and then readjusts and settles back off.

Who was it that said the newborn phase was the most stressful and tiring?
What a crock of shit.

Every night I spend an hour or two with my husband after lights out for the girls. Then it’s a wake up at 11 and again at 4.
And now with three kids and a big ol pile of life decisions I keep dancing with- I’m more tired than ever.

But I keep on going. Because that’s the gig. And that’s what this stage of motherhood is teaching me.

Even though I’m tired, in these midnight hours I think about how lucky I am to have these kids in my life. How I don’t know where or who I’d be without the lessons they’re constantly gifting to me. How they have been a part of me- whether cellularly, emotionally, spiritually or as fully formed beings for as long as I have existed. Which is mind blowing really.

The exhaustion and late nights will pass. Soon she’ll jump into bed just like the bigger two do and sleep soundly until I feel all three of them squashing into bed beside me in the morning.

They’ve always been here. But she is the last one.
So I’m ready for the good night’s sleep. But at the same time… for right now… I’m going to open my heart wide, cuddle her little self and kiss her little cheeks a few more times as I reminisce about the wild ride that the last 8 months have been. And how I wouldn’t trade the time, or my babies for anything in the world. Even when it’s hard. Even when I wish she’d just stay asleep.