Since the beginning of the year, I've had a bit of a love/hate relationship with our bed. I love it so much that I even think about it on and off during the day wondering if I can sneak upstairs for a few minutes with my cup of tea to lean back on the soft pillows and tuck my toes under the warm blankets. And sometimes, I actually do just that! But then, come nightfall, just as my eyelids become heavy, more often that not, I hear the tiptoe of a tiny pair of feet ... sometimes two tiny pairs of feet ... along the hallway and I know that the next few hours will be spent with feet and arms on me, meeting demands for 'more cuddles' and attempting to manoeuvre myself in to a comfortable position between two little boys who like to sleep on my head. And so I wake up glaring at my bed feeling like I've not slept at all and with aching bones akin to someone twice my age. I. Am. Exhausted.