“Every lovely child brings a sense of relief to their mother when they finally sleep.” – Adapted from Ralph Waldo Emerson
Once the dishes are cleared, the baby is tucked in, and the bra is off, I collapse onto the couch. A whirlwind of “must-do” tasks floods my mind.
- Soak that onesie stained with yesterday’s beet mishap.
- Plan the upcoming meals.
- Write out the grocery list.
- Catch up on the baby book entries for months 7, 8, and 9.
- Order prints from the last few professional photo shoots.
- Unsubscribe from the avalanche of junk mail crowding our recycling bin.
- Get those prints framed.
- Declutter my wardrobe.
- Start organizing our summer vacation.
- Finish that book gathering dust.
- Complete this essay.
The constant buzz of “necessary” versus “optional” tasks swirls around me like bees in a hive. I swat them away and grab my second glass of wine.
My body aches. My muscles protest. I lose hair by the handful. Nearly a year postpartum, it often feels as if I’m inhabiting a different person’s body—because I essentially am.
Throughout the day, I operate on my child’s schedule, anticipating his needs and interpreting his cries. When he stirs, I leap into action. As he begins to wind down, I swiftly initiate our “sleepy routine,” using every trick in the book to coax him to sleep.
Dressing him can feel like grappling with a small tiger. Diaper changes resemble wrestling an alligator. Mealtime is akin to feeding a snapping turtle. At this age, motherhood is a full-contact sport, draining my energy with every passing hour, until I can finally have my next cup of lukewarm coffee.
In those early days, when my son was a tiny bundle who couldn’t discern day from night, the stillness of 3 a.m. feedings brought me comfort. Those quiet moments freed me from the “should”s and allowed me to connect with just him. Even during the most exhausting nights, when I felt utterly overwhelmed, I knew dawn would break, bringing a fresh start to try again.
As my son transitioned from newborn to infant, the seasons changed, and sleep deprivation set in like a heavy winter blanket. After months of fragmented sleep, those late-night awakenings lost their charm. I felt drained, yet I found myself staying up later and later, longing for that peaceful stillness I once had.
On one of those late nights, as I lounged on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through social media with the TV humming softly and my glass of wine nearby, my husband headed upstairs and asked, “Why don’t you just go to bed?”
The answer was simple: All day, I lived his little life, and when he finally slept, it was my only chance to reclaim mine. Often, I’m too exhausted for anything beyond indulging in “Real Housewives.”
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In summary, many mothers find themselves staying up late not just due to exhaustion, but to reclaim a sense of self amidst the chaos of parenting. Those quiet moments after the kids are asleep become a sacred time for relaxation and a brief escape from the demands of motherhood.