It’s 12:17 a.m. and my almost 3 year old just went to sleep. After fighting him for hours, he finally gave up. As much as I get aggravated at him for refusing to sleep and throwing tantrums, I know I’m going to miss moments like these when he’s older. I’m going to miss the way that my two boys’ faces light up when they see me first thing in the morning. I’m going to miss their matching pajamas. I’m going to miss their sweet snuggles, their “I love you, Mommy’s, their eagerness to “help” with little things. I’m going to miss the late nights, getting soaked giving the boys a bath, the chaos of toys strewn around the house. I know that before I am ready, they will be too big for cuddles with Momma. They will be heading off to school, making friends, having their own lives independent of mine. There will be a time when I will read them their last bedtime story, kiss their last boo-boo, scare away the last monster, and tuck them in for the last time. I know I won’t realize that it will be the last time until it happens. So, for now, I relish these moments, this slightly controlled chaos of raising two boys under three years old.