It’s not my turn

 It’s not my turn to sleep in

It’s not my turn to drink my coffee warm
It’s not my turn to take a breath without little hands pulling at me

It’s my turn to get up early
To hold space for their big feelings
To wipe the counters and the tears
To pour from a cup that rarely gets refilled

It’s my turn to be touched out but still hold them
To be tired but still show up
To answer the questions
Make the snacks
Clean the mess
And do it all again tomorrow

This season is loud
It’s heavy
It’s relentless

But it’s also the season where I get to be their safe place
Their soft landing
Their constant

One day I’ll sleep in
One day I’ll drink my coffee hot
And I’ll miss the days when I didn’t get to

Because even though it’s not my turn to rest
It’s still my turn to matter