Miraculously

It’s 12.58am.⠀

I haven’t been to sleep yet.

A toddler is in our bed, again - Between us, but with his legs prodding me in the back.

And I’m wide awake.

The legs don’t help. But it’s more the calculating I’m doing in my head.

“How long will it take before he’s asleep?”

“When is the baby due to wake?”

“Did my other toddler go to toilet before bed?”

“What time do we need to get up in the morning?”

“If my toddler goes to sleep in an hour, and my baby wakes in two hours, how many hours will I get tonight in total on a best case scenario?”

“...And a worst?”⠀

And that’s the question that gets me. Every time.

The thought of not having nearly enough sleep again.

Mothering on an empty tank again.

The energy it takes to do more than simply exist on these days, when all I want is to mother the way I know I can, again.

So I lay awake some more.⠀

Recalculating. Worrying. Hoping.⠀

And at some point I doze off.

But not fully.

My mind is always awake to their slightest of stirs no matter where in the house they are.

So any sleep I do get is light.

That’s a big part of why I am so physically tired.

That’s a big part of why mothers everywhere with little children in their homes, beds, and hearts are so physically tired.

Each day the starting point is that.⠀

A low battery that rarely can be recharged during the day because of the “what if’s” at night.

And each night is not the end of the tired, but often the beginning.

It’s a cycle our bodies learn to know, and cope with,

Somewhat miraculously,

For a while, which seems like forever.