I lay in the quiet, well relative quiet, with a deep breathing boy on either side of me. My husband snores lightly while the baby snuffles and shuffles in his little baby sleep. It’s 5am and I’m awake. Extricating myself from the middle of this human cage is a lot harder than you might think. I have a pillow between my knees that, when combined with the sheets over me, turns into something like velcro making it near impossible for me to flip over. I have to strip the blankets down of me and my littlest man in order to get the pillow out and climb down to the bottom of our King (aka fits the whole family) bed. I hold my breath as the cool air hits his back hoping I can get the covers back on him before he wakes up. Success! Five am is not kind to this mother, everyone alseep except me and too add insult to injury it’s Saturday. I shuffle off to the bathroom, momentarily stalled by the small body laying across my doorway. My “oldest” twin daughter likes the hallway better than any bed in the universe and though we may take her back to bed two, three or four times a night we often find her right back where she started when wake in the morning. Today she is particularly precariously positioned with her face right where my foot wants to step. I have to pause, readjust myself to waking movement before gingerly stepping over her and making my way to the bathroom. Cringing as I flush I stand behind the closed door hoping the sound doesn’t wake the little dreamer on the floor out there I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The nightlight barely illuminates my tired eyes and long, unkempt hair. I don’t even register my motherly figure under the tank top I slept in, it’s my constant companion and now (after years of learning to live with each other) my friend. She’s still sleeping when I cautiously open the door and then gingerly step over her. I contemplate laying back down but know that I’ll just lay in the dark thinking–the curse of the early morning bladder.