It’s funny how things change.
I seem to have spent almost half of the last two years sitting in an armchair in the dark, in my pyjamas, in varying states of wakefulness, with one or other of my children in my arms.
And now I’m not.
They sleep. Through the night. Every night. You never think you’ll get there. And yet, here we are.
Unlike my pals I never went in to check on them. The thought I might wake them unnecessarily was too much to bear. I knew I’d be in there with one of them at some point in the night, they were reliable like that. And I always felt very confident they were fine.
And now… I barge in there all the time. To tuck them in, rearrange blankets, make sure dummies are still to hand. I even get stuff out of the bloody cupboards. They won’t wake up. And if they stir I know they’ll doze right off again. They’d rather be asleep. It’s a bloody miracle. Who’d have thought it!