Yesterday morning, I set my alarm for 6 AM, yearning for an hour of solitude before my kids demanded my attention. But let’s be honest—I’m effectively on duty around the clock. With a newborn in the house, my body seems to belong to her, too.
The little one woke me at 4:45 for a feeding. As I laid her back down at 5, a surprising burst of energy washed over me. It was the first time in ages that she had slept for a solid stretch—SIX POINT SEVEN FIVE HOURS! What a miracle! I had every reason to seize this rare moment for a hot cup of coffee, a blog post, a run, or maybe even a refreshing shower, all before 7 o’clock, when my husband would need my help with the kids so he could head to work.
But instead of embracing this two-hour window of freedom, I succumbed to a familiar temptation. I pulled my blackout curtains tighter, snuggled deeper into our cozy bed, and pressed my pillow close, drifting back into sleep.
As I sunk back into dreams, I made a vow: I wouldn’t wake up two hours later drowning in guilt for choosing slumber over productivity—especially when I felt the weight of unrealistic expectations about shedding the baby weight. If a friend were in my shoes, I would reassure her: “You’ve done this before! You’ll lose the weight again, but give yourself time—at least two months. You’ve got a SEVEN WEEK OLD BABY!”
I’d comfort her, saying, “Sure, it’s great your little one mostly slept through the night, but one night of decent rest doesn’t erase seven weeks of sleepless nights.” I’d remind her that it’s perfectly fine if her blog isn’t updated, and that she has a lot to juggle right now.
I’d even chuckle and say, “Remember when you could nurse that same cup of coffee all day without actually enjoying it hot? That fantasy of a steaming cup of coffee in peace is just a memory now.”
When I finally got up around 7 AM, I felt rested—not exactly ready to conquer the day, but certainly not hating myself for hitting the snooze button. After all, it’s not uncommon to turn off the alarm after a night full of baby wake-ups, and I wouldn’t think less of a friend for doing the same.
We’ve all heard the Golden Rule: treat others as you wish to be treated. But why do we often struggle to extend that kindness to ourselves? Here’s my alternative take on it: treat yourself as you would treat a friend. I’m making a conscious effort to embrace this principle.
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In summary, it’s vital to show ourselves the same compassion and understanding that we freely offer to our friends. By doing so, we can navigate the challenges of parenting with a kinder heart and a lighter spirit.
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