Night time. The redeemer.

My children are finally asleep and in the soft space between their slowed breath, I can love them without reserve.

Without annoyance, irritation, anger, frustration or barely contained rage.

Without the demands to hurry up or quieten down.

Just the rise and fall of their little chests, the sweet resignation of their faces to sleep.

In these quiet moments, in the stillness, by the soft light of the Ikea star that hangs on the wall, I lean in and whisper in their ears, “Mumma loves you so much. You are so precious to me.”

Apparently there is no truth to sleep-learning –  you won’t wake knowing a new language if you listen to a recording in French each night while you slumber. And yet I whisper my love, needing desperately to believe that no matter the shouting and upset that went on that day, my boys will HEAR that I adore them beyond their wildest imaginations. I hope I can undo all the things I got wrong.

I so often get things wrong.

So I will keep whispering my love. And shouting it, too, in the daylight hours when they are wide awake and pushing me away in annoyance because I have kissed them far too many times.

I will keep making up for the fact that I am only human.

And I will pray that this is enough.