Motherhood
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Once the babies finally sleep, Honey claims the quiet hours, curling close as though she has been waiting for exhaustion to make room for her.
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At 12:10 p.m., one sleepy child opens her eyes and morning finally begins on her own stubborn schedule.
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Joy can be ordinary enough to serve for breakfast: small, messy, sweet, and gone before you realize you needed it.
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A family recipe becomes a memory of sticky fingers, sleepy smiles, and love passed down one bite at a time.
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While adults count scars and hard days, a child finds music in an ordinary afternoon and dances anyway.
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After a night of bottles, cries, and tiny hands refusing sleep, morning arrives late and no one apologizes for needing it.
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A sleepless Sunday moves slowly through teething, cold coffee, drawn curtains, and the mercy of not rushing anything.
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Time does not fly so much as quietly steal bottles, teeth, first steps, and every version of the babies you thought you had longer to hold.
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At three in the morning, two wakeful little voices turn a tired house into another place where motherhood refuses to clock out.
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Theo’s laugh travels before he does, finding a tired mother wherever she is and making the world feel lighter for a moment.
Between Bruises & Blooms 