At the end of a long day, I find myself slumping onto the couch, the weight of motherhood settling in. The chores are done, the little one is asleep, and I finally have a moment to breathe. Yet, a flood of tasks that I “should” be doing rushes through my mind.
Soak the baby’s clothes after today’s messy meal. Plan meals for the week ahead. Write in the baby book. Order prints from our latest family photo shoot. Unsubscribe from endless junk mail cluttering our recycling bin. Clear out my closet. Start mapping out our summer getaway. Finish that book I’ve been reading. Complete this essay.
These nagging “must-dos” buzz around me like a swarm of bees, but I swat them away and reach for my second glass of wine instead.
My body aches from exhaustion. My hair seems to be shedding by the handfuls. Even though I’m nearly 10 months postpartum, I often feel like I’m living someone else’s life. All day, I operate on my child’s schedule, deciphering his cries and anticipating his needs. When he wakes, I’m ready to spring into action. When I sense he’s getting sleepy, I throw myself into our bedtime routine, using every trick I know to help him drift off.
Dressing him feels like wrestling a wild animal. Changing diapers is akin to wrestling an alligator, and mealtime is like feeding a snapping turtle. Motherhood at this stage is a full-contact sport, leaving me drained until I can get another lukewarm cup of coffee.
During the early days, when my son was a tiny bundle of joy who couldn’t tell night from day, I cherished the quiet moments of 3 a.m. feedings. Those were my breaks from the relentless “should” list, moments that were just about me and him. Even on the toughest nights when I felt utterly alone in my exhaustion, I knew dawn would come, bringing another day filled with opportunities to do it all over again, hopefully a bit better.
As my son transitioned from newborn to infant, the seasons changed, and winter brought a thick fog of sleep deprivation. After months of waking repeatedly during the night, I was beyond tired, yet I found myself staying up later in search of the quiet I once had.
One of those late nights, I lounged on the couch, scrolling through social media with the TV on and my glass of wine in hand. My partner headed upstairs and asked, “Why don’t you just go to bed?”
Because all day, I’ve been living for him. When he finally sleeps, that’s when I get to reclaim my time. And oftentimes, I’m too exhausted for anything other than mindlessly watching Real Housewives.
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In summary, many mothers find themselves staying up late not just for personal time, but to find a moment of peace amidst the chaos of parenting. This often leads to binge-watching shows or indulging in a glass of wine, as they reclaim a slice of their individuality when the day winds down.