“He said his favorite time of day is when he’s going to bed and gets to talk to mommy for a while,” said the text from my husband, referencing my three year old son.

Kid, why don’t you just stab me in the heart again?

I think back to sitting next his bed, up against a Mickey Mouse pillow propped against the wall. Staring at the shadows thrown by the nightlight, forming mice and dragons pulling heavy loads across the ceiling. Hearing his little voice say, “Do you want to hear a knock-knock joke?” and then telling the 10,000th variation on the “Orange you glad I didn’t say banana?” joke no matter what my answer. Thinking on what was done and yet to be done that day. Listening to him declaring “I’m Meowser!” (referring to an obscure Mario Bros. enemy) and then “Meowser is going to sleep now!” Drifting off and startling awake as my back hurts reminds me of the discomfort of my position. Looking over and seeing him breathe, his head still tiny on his pillow.

Like him, I’ve started to find comfort and peace in these times. It’s just us in the dark, with no one else. I’ve learned to embrace them myself, even on nights when his afternoon nap has left him far too awake to fall asleep as quick as I’d like.

But I’m not the only one to consider. Every precious moment with my younger son, every minute sitting on that floor, is time not spent with my older son. My husband is quite capable of putting him to bed and gets him ready at night. But my husband wasn’t the one who nursed and rocked him to sleep for his first year. He wasn’t the one he wanted in the middle of the night when he woke up. He wasn’t the one who used to sit with him before my younger son was born. He isn’t the one who started the tradition of talking about our “favorite things” at night. He’s not the one gone all day, with those evening hours needing to be sacred. He’s not the one who my older son asks to sit with him when he can’t sleep. My older son wants his mom at bedtime – wants me – just as my younger son does.

For quite a while, there was no conflict. We’d get my younger son to bed early enough and he’d fall asleep fast enough that I’d be back in my older son’s room in plenty of time. But as my younger son has gotten older, his bedtime is longer and it takes longer for him to fall asleep. Many days, I have to leave his room before he’s asleep to make time for my older son as well.

But this is the beauty and heartbreak of having more than one child. Watching them express their boundless “brotherly love” is so good. Yet there is still only one of me. While I struggle mightily to give them each one-on-one time, it feels like there’s never enough. Even though there is not infinite time for me to give them, I hope they know my love for both of them is always growing, no matter what.

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