Every morning is the same.

Little Miss Sunshine arrives first. If we’re lucky, she’s waited until her clock says six, like she’s supposed to. If we’re unlucky, the sun isn’t quite up yet. Either way, she crawls into the bed between us, snuggling in under the covers and hugging us both as tight as possible. She lays as still as she can for two minutes, perhaps five, then attacks us with aggressive kisses from her bear, asking in a whisper-yell what we will be doing today. Time to get up!

A few minutes later, Captain Jelly Belly arrives. He’s a creature of routine. It’s always straight to his father’s side of the bed, a quick stop to drop off his stuffed monkey, then reporting to the bathroom for a morning pee. A moment later he’s back in bed with his daddy for his morning cuddle time – always his father, not me, but I don’t begrudge them their bonding. The Captain is content to lie still and be held while his father dozes, lost in his own thoughts of ninjas and video game strategy.

Soon Gal Smiley wanders in, rubbing her eyes. She’s not a morning person, and she’s prickly at the best of times, so it’s best to greet her cautiously and evaluate her mood. She wants her mommy, but not if it means getting too close – she is not a snuggler – and with four of us already in the bed, it’s a tough call. Some days she will accept the narrow strip of mattress left on my side, as long as I lay immobile beside her and not hug her too much. Other days she chooses to flop across the bottom of the bed, claiming her own territory rather than trying to invade the settled country.

With five in one bed, sleeping is definitely out of the question. The kids chatter to each other, maybe playing a pretend game, maybe talking about their day. Little Miss tries to get someone to tickle her, or “buy” the kitty-cat version of her from a pet shop. Someone always complains about not having enough space. Someone always feels that they are not getting their fair share of blanket.

Eventually my alarm goes off, signalling the passing of the last possible moment in which we can be ready in time. I struggle to get up, as children fling themselves on me, battling to keep me in the bed even though they’re ready themselves for breakfast. I fight them off, sometimes in fun, sometimes frustrated that we are now running late.

“It won’t always be like this,” my husband says. Joyously, wistfully, lovingly.

This post is for Brie’s series of Mommy Moments over at Capital Mom. This week’s theme was repetition.