its 12:59am. Valentines Day is over. you are in our bed and you are not alone. our daughter, myra is on your left, most likely wedged at an odd angle between your left arm and your body. she will have kicked off all the blankets, but her soft, brown skin will probably still feel warm to the touch. myra's little sister, wren, i'm sure, is on your right. her small bird-ish self turned in towards you, both hands tucked neatly under her chin, tiny knees curled up. in a few moments, when shiloh cries, i will know that its my cue to scoop him up from his crib, and fill up the not so large expanse of mattress left over next to wren.
and then it will be the five of us. in bed. on Valentines night. I will be the only one awake, and I will smile. Maybe I will even laugh a little, at the thought of lingerie, and how it had absolutely no chance tonight to make an appearance. I will probably cry a little, at the thought of surviving the night with five bodies squeezed together like puppies in one large bed. those tears won't stay sad for long, however. they will slowly build into something else--an overwhelming feeling of gratitude, and absolute awe for how we got here--two warm bodies asleep with three new bodies between us. then my feet, cold, will find yours, warm, the way they always do.
and that will be that.