Nine years, three boys, always a baby in our bed.

I used to spend my time worrying about the boys being in our bed and then I settled into my motherhood a little more. I was finally able to let go of the worry of what other people would think and I embraced our truth.

All day I am away from my babies. So, in the middle of the night, when they cry out I run to them. I rescue them and carry them into the comfort of my bed. They hog the bed, kick us, and we hear every little sound. As I slip off my sliver of the bed and sneak away to get ready I shake my tired head.

But then, as I push back the curtains and shower him with kisses I can't help but pause and soak him in. One day he will be taller than me and have no interest in being rescued in the middle of the night and carried into our bed.

So for now I'm just going to take it all in.