"I'm proud of you, you know. Giving birth to these little ones, you're incredible." I mumble, my lips brushing against your temple and my arm slung around your shoulders.

We're currently laying in our Californian king bed, sun peeking through the curtains with our three kids, Fletcher, our five year old who's squashed between us, Tabitha, who's just turned three, laying on me with my fingertips lightly stroking her pyjama clad back, and our newest addition, Felicity, who's only six months and asleep on your chest.

This isn't unusual for us, it's a Saturday morning, we have nowhere to be so they kind of just come as they please once they wake up, it's like an infestation of bed bugs, but much cuter.

"Breakfast, anyone?" I offer, waiting a few seconds but don't seem to get any response, usually Fletcher's jumping up and down for pancakes, maybe he's just too comfortable right now.