How Many Times?


Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt


Amy wondered how many times more this would happen as her feet hit the cold floor and she searched for her slippers.  How many more times would she be yanked rudely from sleep to go and tend a fussing baby?  How many times would she have to leave the warm nest of her bed to take care of a child with a belly ache, or leg cramps, or a coughing fit?

“This is our last baby,” she thought. “No more infants demanding 24/7 attention. I wonder how long before I’ll get a full, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep?  Ha!  Probably never happen.  I’m so much in the habit of tw0 o’clock feedings, I’ll probably be waking up Tom over there to feed him a sandwich!”

She smiled to herself as he belted the robe around her still-post-pregnancy waist. Well, for all the countless times she’d done this,  she figured she could do it a few more without going bonkers. She always managed to make it through the nights and the days, sometimes napping in her chair when the littlest ones were getting their afternoon sleep. She did dearly love her four munchkins.  It was just that sometimes she was. . . . well, just tired.  Tired to the bone.  Felt as if she’d never been anything but a mommy, on call all the time.

And then the years whizzed by in a blur of activity, work, teens, weddings, grandbabies–and she could sleep the night through except for those dratted calls of nature that seemed to beset women her age.

Well. It gave her some time to remember, as she drifted back off to sleep; to remember, and to be thankful.