noise in the small hours

slowly, awareness comes. it is cold, and dark, and i do not want to be awake. my furnace-hot husband is curled up in a ball behind me, our backs pressed together, the only part of me that is warm. vaguely i am aware that i should pull the blanket up, but today is technically the first day of summer, and i stubbornly refuse to give in, especially as up til now it has been so hot we've been forgoing even a sheet at night.

i roll over, determining to go back to sleep, ignoring the slightly distressed tiny noises the man makes whenever i move away from him. after six years, they hardly register, unless he is facing me and i have to disengage his suddenly vicelike arms and reassure him i am not going anywhere. with my face pressed against his back he relaxes, and i allow consciousness to leave me again. as i slowly drift, a noise jars me back to the cold - obviously the reason i was awake to begin with. insistent and annoyed, my daughter is awake, and only milk will satisfy her. i pull the blanket onto the bed as i leave the room, and my husband barely stirs.

in the dark and the cold, the creak of the floorboards is deafening, and i am sure i will wake everyone. miraculously, only the mini-one notices, and her insistent annoyance becomes fear and sadness when i do not materialise next to her bed the moment she hears my footsteps. her sobs of anguish are only quieted when tiny outstretched arms and feathery soft head find their resting place on my shoulder. in the heat of yesterday, the sleepsack was her only nightwear, but now, in the dark, her pudgy arms are cold to touch, and i reach for a tiny soft shirt to keep her warm, before we return to my bed to nurse.

my footsteps still creaking, suddenly i freeze. a voice, loud in the darkness, and baby's head startles off my shoulder - i have to make sure and get more chicken so we don't run out. silent laughter racking my body, i try not move, as her tiny head swings from side to side and she questions into the dark, not understanding. i just didn't know anymore so i went and did it. my son has inherited my sleeptalking, and i wonder, not for the first time, how sleeptalker and nightnurser do not constantly disturb each other.

eyes adjusted to the dark, i see the skinny body sprawled across the bed. one foot hangs off the side, his head is pressed against the wall, toy-puppy gripped firmly by the arm twisted behind his arched back. satisfied he is still sleeping, i pull pirate-covered blankets over my cold skinned boy - when do we get to go back to the zoo for burgers again? - and make my way back to my own bed with the now-warmer-girl. tired and hungry, she cries again when i lay her down, never remembering in her half-awake state that i will be joining her shortly and the milk will flow. as we adjust ourselves to more comfortable positions, a sleepy arm is thrown over me, and she startles off, squealing with delight as she feels daddy's hand. he is oblivious, lost in the sleep i crave, and she soon resumes nursing, the possibility of daddy superseded by the reality of milk.

comfortable between two warm bodies, i search out the clock in the dark before i let sleep claim me again. 3-4-9 i see in blurry green. almost 5am, as we don't change this clock for daylight savings. slowly the dark becomes complete as tired eyes close, and sleep cautiously returns. i drift, warm and dark, till again i am jarred awake, by the 5am alarm calling the man to get up and ready for work. he stirs, moving away to end the jarring alarm, my back suddenly cold without his bodyheat to warm me, and then, silence.

slowly sound and warmth return, wakeup call ignored in search of rest. small body in my arms warm and still, save for twitching fingers and breath-raised chest, husband behind me asleep almost instantly, his constantly-hot-body keeping my back warm in the cold, hand holding his daughter's, his sleep-steady breath beside my ear lulling me to my own sleep once more, and blocking out all other noises in the small hours.