I sat quietly in the dark, my youngest snuggled to my breast, sleepily guzzling as my husband tucked the older three into their beds. Before I laid the baby down for the night, I put my cheek to his and whispered:

“I love you, always and Forever. Forever and Always, no matter what.”

I kissed his drowsy head before placing him gently in his crib and quietly sneaking out of his room. I find my six-year-old in the hallway. Her fiery eyes and surprised expression told me she was up to something. She stared at me waiting for the usual “get back in your room, please.”

Instead I bent over and pressed her head to my heart and whispered to the top of her head:

“I love you, always and Forever. Forever and Always, no matter what.”

She giggled and said “I love you, mommy, good night!” and skipped back into her room while I headed into her big sister's room. My eight-year-old was in bed reading, as usual. I sat next to her and patted her leg. She looked up from her book and smiled as I leaned in to whisper in her ear:

“I love you, always and Forever. Forever and Always, no matter what.”

She wrapped her arms around me and said “I love you, too, mommy!” then kissed my cheek. I said goodnight and headed back into the hallway where I saw my three-year-old, standing at the gate in his doorway, pursed lips ready for his daily good-night kiss.

“Sorry, no kisses over the gate tonight, buddy.” He let out an “awe” and his best pouty lip as I walked over. “I'm coming in instead.” He let out a sigh and big smile and I scooped him up in my arms and carried him over to his.

I sat him on my lap, cradled like the little baby he used to be, and whispered:

“I love you, always and Forever. Forever and Always, no matter what.”

I kissed him all over and plopped him on his pillow. He laughed and said “good-night, mommy!” (still refusing to say “I love you” to me because he loves Daddy).

I head downstairs and collapse on the couch, another long day in the books. I think about all the stresses of the day, the week, the month. And then about my four little sleeping beauties.

They are everything. And my problems are nothing.

I've been up daily at 4:30 in the morning for weeks. I’m exhausted. But I am lucky that I am awoken each morning by the cries of my healthy, happy baby and not the sound of bombs or gunfire. I am lucky that in the wee hours of the morning, I can carry him in my arms to another area within the warmth of our house, where he won't wake the others. He can nurse, snack, play while the rest of my family sleeps safely upstairs.

The others emerge and start demanding breakfast. The three-year-old wants oatmeal, the six-year-old and egg sandwich and nothing sounds good to my eight-year-old. But I am lucky that I have food to feed all of my children, and myself, that I can provide them with healthy options and as much as their little tummies desire.

I clean up breakfast while my husband showers and gets ready for work. I'm frustrated trying to deal with the baby who is now exhausted and ready for a nap. But I am lucky that we have warm, clean water to bathe in and my children have soft, dry places in which to rest.

After the baby is asleep, I call my daughters to me to begin their schoolwork. The usual negative attitudes begin and I do my best to shut them down as quickly as possible. But I'm lucky that my daughters are allowed to learn and that we have the time and resources for them to become educated rather than being engrossed in merely surviving.

Afternoons are spent running my daughters to dance classes and gymnastics practice, I spend way too much time in the car and wrestling my little ones into car seats. But I am lucky that my children are able to hone their talents and explore their interests and that they don't have to work to help put food on the table.

I tell my kids they can be anything they want to be. A ballerina, a fireman, a teacher, a paleontologist. And I'm lucky that I can say it truthfully, I don't have to worry about what their future holds. I'm lucky I don't have to worry about my daughters being exploited or my sons dying in war unless they choose to defend their country.

At the end of the day, it's come full circle, my sleepy baby in my arms. My bigger three tucked snug in their beds. My loving husband waiting for me on the couch.

And in the grand scheme of things, my problems are nothing because I am lucky I have everything I've ever dreamed of.

***

About the Author

Melissa Roy

Melissa is a homeschooling, ballerina mommy of three with baby 4 on board. She shares her parenting adventures at .