Parenting is a nocturnal experience. We four are still in one bedroom, in our separate sections, but still all in together. Each night is a campsite of mysterious thumps and hums; something is always vibrating. Previous silence is filled with sniffles, snores and baby wheezes. We are awakened by coughs, hunger cries, dead batteries. I am awakened by my own worry, restless until I check the crib. In turns, and as often both at once, we tend to the little ones through dusk and midnight and early dawn.
When the adult bedroom is at last habitable, it may take me many nights to get used to the quiet. Or not.
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