“Momma. Momma? Momma!!!”

It’s the darkest time of night.

A little voice crashes into my slumber.

Creak, crack go the floorboards as I fumble towards her room.

Her tiny face, muddled with sleep,

is happy to see me.

Like in the old days

hour after hour she would call and her daddy or I would go

Creak, crack on the floorboards, fumbling towards her room,

Again and again.

A steady hot river of coffee flowed into our veins, lifting us above the days, weeks, months and years of

not enough sleep.

Now the nighttime calls are less frequent.

They are almost a privilege,

The closing of the chapters of six years and two babies.

When the call comes I go

Creak, crack on the floorboards, fumbling towards her room,

To hold her close and rock her

Breathe in her warm smell

And listen to her gentle breaths

That echo those long, long nights that are slowly fading.