It’s late at night. You and your husband, Benjamin, are fast asleep, with your one-year-old son, Matthew, nestled between you. The past two days have been brutal. Matthew’s been teething, cranky, and running a fever. Neither of you has had more than a few hours of real rest.

Then, you feel a tiny set of hands and knees clambering over you. You blink awake, and sure enough, it’s Matthew. Somehow, he looks completely refreshed, his energy back at full throttle.

“Bwa bwa!” he babbles, loud and cheerful, his little voice filling the quiet room. His fever must have finally broken. Your bright, playful boy is back.

“My little man,” Benjamin mumbles, voice still thick with sleep as he reaches over to scoop Matthew up. He gently lifts your wriggling son, who’s determined to keep climbing on you. “Your mom’s really tired, buddy. Let her sleep, okay?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Matthew’s hair.

But you know the truth. Benjamin’s running on even less sleep than you. After coming home from the hospital around 7 p.m. last night, he’d immediately taken over, insisting you shower and rest while he stayed up with Matthew, rocking him through every whimper and cry.

And now, even bone-tired, he’s still the one shielding you from exhaustion.