Picture this: I’m at the local Target, trying to remember what on Earth I came for, but all I can focus on is the chaos unfolding in my shopping cart. My toddler, Lily, is a whirlwind of noise and frustration—screaming at the top of her lungs, blonde pigtails bouncing wildly, a binky lodged in her mouth and another clutched in her tiny hand.
Meanwhile, my partner, Sophia, is off in another aisle with our older kids, Ben and Mia. Here I am, navigating the store with a moody 2-year-old whose eyes are puffy and wet, her little hand outstretched for something—what exactly, I can’t tell. She’d been up since 3 a.m. for no discernible reason other than the allure of Blue’s Clues. Now, at 3 p.m., both of us are running on fumes, but I’m managing slightly better, or so I thought.
We figured a quick trip to the store would tire her out enough to nap later, but that plan went up in smoke. It all started when she began waking up throughout the night. We tried to eliminate her naps, but that only made things worse. It’s like she had entered an entirely different realm of sleeplessness, a dreaded zone where tiredness transforms into a full-blown meltdown. Now, every shopper in Target gets to witness this spectacle.
This is the reality of parenting an overtired child: endless screaming for no apparent reason, requests for snacks that lead to tears because the snacks aren’t what they wanted, or the complete collapse onto the floor in a tantrum. As a parent, the only thought that crosses your mind is that you might need an exorcist.
For those without kids, think of it like this: if a well-rested child is a score of 0 on a number line, an overtired kid is a solid 11. It’s an unknown territory that defies logic and reason. The only remedy is sleep, but once a child crosses that threshold into utter exhaustion, good luck getting them to calm down anytime soon.
I attempted to console Lily; I scooped her up from the cart, and she responded by kicking me. I set her down, thinking she might want to walk, but she just flopped onto the floor. I dangled candy in front of her, and she pushed it away. Nothing was working.
And now, the stares. Those judgmental glances from other shoppers who seem to think that if you can’t manage one little toddler, you must be failing as a parent. I wanted to shout back an explanation, but with my hands full and a screaming child, I knew it was futile. When people decide to judge your parenting, they rarely care for your side of the story.
So, I made my way to a less crowded section of the store, dreaming up petty revenge fantasies. I imagined writing “FART” on the back of my son’s first car or orchestrating a surprise in my daughter’s pantry. As Lily continued her tirade, I couldn’t help but think how sweet it would be to wake her at 3 a.m. one day, just to relive this moment.
Eventually, I reunited with Sophia and the kids in the boys’ clothing aisle. Sophia was picking out shirts for Ben when Lily reached out for her. The moment Sophia scooped her up, Lily went silent, snuggling into her mother’s shoulder and falling asleep as if she had just taken a magical potion.
“What just happened?” I asked.
Sophia shrugged, and that’s when I felt that familiar pang of envy. There’s something about a mother’s touch that seems to work wonders in situations like these. “She just needed Mommy,” Sophia said, and with that, she headed out to the car while I completed our shopping.
On the drive home, Lily slept peacefully, and I couldn’t help but wonder if tomorrow would bring a return to regular sleep habits. Deep down, I knew we’d be back in this situation again because, let’s face it, dealing with an overtired child is just one of those less glamorous parts of parenting that we all endure.