Beca Swanson loved sleep. She didn't know anyone who loved sleep as much as she did. Her mother had warned her that sleep would be the thing she missed the most once she had children.
Janice had been right (and Beca hated when that happened).
It had been a punch in the face when she gave birth to her first son. Connor didn't sleep. At all.
He slept through the night exactly once in his first two years. And Beca got pregnant again.
Rosie slept, but Beca still had issues. Because that girl slept all day and partied all night. It took her a while, but Beca got her second child into a routine- and when she was pregnant with their third, another boy, Jesse made the terrible mistake of moving their daughter into a bed. So instead of sleeping, she wandered the house like a tiny serial killer, keeping everyone awake.
Their third child, little Isaac, was a dream from day one. It made Jesse wonder if he was actually a Swanson, because Swanson babies didn't sleep.
After the accident, neither of them slept. Night owl Connor wasn't coming in at all hours to ask questions (like "how would a dog wear pants?". That had floored Jesse and made Beca cry with laughter. "Why is your son so weird?"), Rosie wasn't wandering around getting into everything she shouldn't. Isaac wasn't waking for occasional night feed.
There was silence. Their house, so full of little footsteps and tiny, high pitched voices and baby laughter, was silence.
Their triplets- their miracle babies, who could have only be hand picked by their siblings in heaven- didn't sleep either. But Beca didn't mind.
She spent nights curled up in the velveteen chair, alternating between breastfeeding babies and bottle feeding babies and holding wide awake babies in her arms.
Because she'd witnessed first hand how quickly those moments could be snatched away.