It’s 2 am, or something like it, when she sneaks into my room filling our bed with four warm bodies, leaving me the smallest sliver of space. She kisses my face, tells me she loves me, and just wants to snuggle. The tired inside these bones starts to shift and breakdown. The tears start flowing, and suddenly uninterrupted sleep seems so unimportant when it’s traded in for this.
Soon they are all sleeping sound, except me, the one who might need it most. I could be bitter, I used to be bitter. I could be tired, I used to give in to the tired. But in this quiet vulnerable space, side by side with my tiny tribe, I see myself. I see my mishaps and regrets, but I also see a heart that has doubled in size and overflows will a fierce and selfless love. Sometime after becoming a mother of two my heart has transformed and redefined itself. I’ve given in, surrendered, and said yes. I’ve said yes to it all and in return this heart has fallen deep, deeper, deepest, into the most joyful heartache I’ve ever known. Interestingly, I didn’t feel like a mother the day I learned there was life growing inside of me. I am not so sure if I felt like a mother the day I birthed Octave into this world. It is now, almost three years later that I can confidently claim my name as a mother, and even better, their mother. There’s not too much I really need in this life, just keep me where the light is, and where they are.