I’m half asleep when he finally crawls into bed. After washing the dishes and getting our youngest to sleep, he climbs upstairs one last time for the night. ⁣
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I know he’s made sure the doors are locked and the alarm is set. He’s good about double checking-I love him for it. ⁣
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His head hits the pillow in our King size bed. It feels like a Double with our three-year-old snoring in-between us. ⁣
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I slide my leg under the sheets reaching for him. “I love you, goodnight,” is all I can muster in my Benadryl induced drowsiness. “Love you too, A,” he whispers. I can finally rest.⁣
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This is love after babies.⁣
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It’s cold feet touching under covers when words are too hard.⁣
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It’s a hand squeeze while watching our favorite T.V. show.⁣
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It’s a stolen kiss during bedtime stories.⁣
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It’s a look; it’s a laugh.⁣
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Love after babies is a million little things I never knew could mean so much.⁣
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