Nights in this house were probably the most chaotic. Except for early mornings when everyone is awake. But this was probably the worse. The only child that wouldn’t really protest to going to bed anymore was the oldest, Aoife, who was eight. She’s learned it’s easier to protest less.

But the other children, they were more of a challenge.

There were the twins, Croía and Caoimhe, both aged four whole protest every time the idea of a nap or bedtime was spoken into the air. They wouldn’t go down without a fight, always running around the house, leaving you and Andrew to scramble to catch both of them. Andrew’s stated it’s like wrangling cattle.

Then there’s the last one, the only boy, but still just as dramatic as the girls, Liam, aged two. He’s just learned to walk and toddle around, which means he evades you around bedtime as well. It’s tiring, really. But Aoife is gracious enough to help you with him. So then you’re just left with the twins.

Both you and Andrew have a twin in your arms. You’re holding Caoimhe and Andrew has Croía. They’re both kicking and shouting, not wanting to go to sleep, wanting to stay up ‘just a little longer’ meaning an hour or two. You’re genuinely debating just letting them stay up and tire themselves out. But they’re supposed to have a sleep schedule and you have to keep to it.

“Mammy no!! I wanna stay up!” Croía pouts as you take her into the twins room, Andrew right behind you, hearing the same things from Caoimhe, whining and grumbling.

After what felt like the biggest fight of your life, they finally settled down, you watched intensely, making sure they were really asleep, having a few instances of fake sleeping in the past does that. You gently closed their bedroom door, Andrew looking at you, trying not to laugh.

“I was like that when I was little and now I know why my mam was so stressed all the time.”

He murmurs, you both make your way down the hall to Liam’s room. He’s sleeping soundly in his crib, Aoife sleeping on the floor beside it. Andrew urged you to go to the bedroom while he puts Aoife to bed in her own room.

Sure, you filled the ‘trad-wife’ role, staying home and caring for children, but even Andrew knows when a break is needed. You’ve both agreed that four children is enough. And Andrew is nice enough to help out quite a lot. Even though that’s just basic parenting, it’s unfortunately uncommon now. So, you’re a trad wife by your own rules, really.

You’re lying in bed in your and Andrew’s shared bedroom, fighting sleep when Andrew comes in, closing the door quietly and slowly climbing into bed and pulling you into his arms,

“Like I keep saying, it’s like wrangling fecking cattle.”