In the night, we all get jumbled.
She comes in first. "A bad dream," she (always) says. I scooch, give her a pillow, and hug the side of the bed. Then the wee lad calls, "Mommy, I done!" It's 3 am and he's decided he's had enough sleep. Husband sighs, stumbles on feet and over legos, and tries to talk him down for just a few more hours.
He's barely back in our (crowded) bed when the eldest comes in, holding his nose and covered in blood, "My nose is bleeding," I hear under muffled tissues. I'm up quick and with him at the sink, washing his face and changing his shirt.
Then I hear the baby again. "Daddy.... I want in Ella's bed!" Husband tells me he kinda lied to him, promising him milk and cuddles in the girl's bed, hoping he'd fall asleep and forget. But he didn't, and in a second Daddy is up and the cries are quieted. It's just me and the girl again, in my bed, for what seems like the thousandth time in her five short years.