It’s when the sun is just starting to rub it’s eyes open for the first time. When the house is dreaming somewhere between night and day and everything inside is peaceful and quiet. The outside world could be spinning, but I would never know it because the comforter is pulled right up to my chin and my eyes have yet to greet the dawn. And then the faint sound of tiny footsteps from down the hall. The jump onto the foot of our bed and the crawl to get in between the two of us to nestle into the warmest part. And it’s quiet a bit longer. Soft breaths and eyes closed as we drift in and out of sleep together.

As the light begins to spill in through the windows, she slowly wakes. Her puffy eyes and swollen lips are signs of a restful slumber and her hair is piled on top of her head in the most beautifully imperfect way. She smiles, begins talking about the day she will have in between yawning and stretching the sleep out of herself.

These moments are some of the smallest in my world, but there is something so intensely euphoric about them. The conversations nestle onto the pillows that surround us and giggles hang in the air. It’s childhood. And motherhood. And it’s all wrapped up in one while we get lost in each other. It’s the safest feeling and in the warmest place and it’s just stunning perfection in every way possible. It’s comforting on every level. It’s home in it’s most beautiful state.

I live for these pieces of our story. I live for the small moments that stitch together the bigger ones. I live for my kids pulled in as close they can be and feeling their chests move in and out with each breath. To brush their hair out of their eyes and to cuddle close. To hear them giggle and see them smile. The morning breath and all. I live for bed head and good mornings.