sleepless nights
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At three in the morning, two wide-awake babies and one exhausted mother prove that motherhood does not care what the clock says.
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The compass has not changed, but the road home has been bent, leaving a mother to wait while every room still points toward her boys.
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She never slept; morning simply found her standing at the edge of night while the sky bruised itself into gold.
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Morning arrives from the wrong side of insomnia, catching her awake as darkness packs itself away one pale color at a time.
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When sleep would not come, she wrapped two tired daughters into a stroller and carried their exhaustion outside to meet the moon.
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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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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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One glowing window in a sleeping house holds the last confession of a night that still has not learned how to end.
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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.
Between Bruises & Blooms 