Lost count

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been awake with them on my chest, because they need to be held through sickness. My own tired hanging on, just. And my love for them giving me the strength to keep holding on.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve cut my shower short or have had to let it wait until another time or date, because they need something that can’t wait. My basic needs put on the back burner, because their basic needs are at the forefront.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve cleaned the same space within the same morning, because they live in our house too. My work left in the unseen, and my mind a little out of order.

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve told my husband “I’m tired”, regardless of whether they are sleeping through at the time. My exhaustion crying out for validation, my body screaming for rest.

I’ve lost count.

But I’ve also lost count of the times I’ve lay awake at night looking at old photos of them, because I can’t believe how lucky I am to be their mother.

I’ve lost count of the times they have showered me with “I love you”, and slobbery kisses rounded off with around-the-neck arm cuddles.

I’ve lost count of the times I have become emotional as I have cleaned out their cupboards and sorted through their little pieces of clothing they no longer fit.

I’ve lost count of the times I have told my husband “these are the best days of our lives” as together we watch our favourite people live in the life we have made as a team.

So much of it happens day in day out,

That I lose count.

And I guess that’s what makes it so hard,

But also so indescribably beautiful.

And as I go about another day,

I count myself lucky,

To be able to lose count at all.