The ‘Middle of the Night’
The ‘middle of the night’ was just a place I’d visit at weekends
After drinks, laughs and dancing, and saying goodbye to friends.
I never lingered long enough to know the chills, the light, the sounds,
And if you looked for me at noon the next day, in my bed I would be found.
Time passed and the ‘middle of the night’ became a favourite haunt
As the unborn baby sent his mum for a midnight snack and jaunt.
I’d sit there in the darkness, until the tiredness came
And creep back up to a warm bed to catch up on sleep again.
By the time there were three children, I knew the ‘middle of the night’ so well,
The creaks of the boards at the house warmed up, the noise of the breadmaker, the smell.
I’d cross paths with my bleary eyed husband, on our way to the different beds.
We’d diagnose fevers, whisper ‘hush’ and caress those little blonde heads.
The ‘middle of the night’, I’ll be there soon, en route to one of the three.
I’ll be coming though with milk or hugs, or to check my babies you see.
I dress now for my nightly journey in a uniform of fleece and socks.
It’s a rookie’s mistake to turn on lights and to step on Lego blocks.
I’m sure one day I’ll stop and think, it’s a while since I’ve been there.
Since I’ve jumped half awake at the slightest sound, since I’ve smoothed my baby’s hair.
I’ll retire from my midnight creeping, a younger mama’s job for sure,
And lie in my bed with a much worse task as I wait for the key in the door.
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