Pitter, patter, pitter patter, little footsteps make their way across the hall and into our bedroom. Our youngest child, age five, crawls into bed with my husband and me.

Thump, thud, thump, big kid feet noisily follow suit, and soon our oldest, nearly 9, squeezes himself between the covers.

Four of us in a king-sized bed, which once seemed so vast and endless, now filled with our family.

All of us struggling to find our space, yet not wanting to leave. Snuggling close in a sea of arms and legs.

Our bed has always been open to our children.

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