Sometimes, when it’s late and I’m about to turn in, I wander into their rooms just to stare at them for a moment or two.
The very people who have driven me slightly mad all day become almost unbearably precious once they’re unconscious. Never mind that in a few hours, one of them will inevitably appear at my bedside requesting more water, demanding anywhere from one to five additional hugs, or needing me to check under the bed for monsters.
For now, they sleep. I watch the gentle rise and fall of their chests. Their smooth cheeks glowing in the dim light. Their peaceful little faces, presumably lost in happy dreams of unicorns and rainbows, or Spider-Man and firecrackers.
Little “pinch me” moments. I can’t believe I get to live with these crazy people. I can’t believe I get to be theirs, and they get to be mine, and that we have all this time together.
And one day, the house will be quiet. I hope to God they call me to tell me about their days. That they ask me to help change their tires. That they invite themselves over and give me the opportunity to do their laundry and make their favorite meals.
Life is so short.
How lucky are we?