“Mommy! Mom? Mommy? MOOOOOOOMMMMMMYYYYYY!”
We’ve all been there. You’ve just settled down, finally. A glass of wine in one hand, chocolates in the other. What on earth could she possibly need now? But you already know, because this is the nightly ritual that seems to repeat itself endlessly. Another glass of water. More cuddles. A blanket readjustment. The stuffed animal that fell under the bed. A complaint about a noise, a shadow, or perhaps even an inconsequential booger.
Who knows? As you sit there, you can’t help but wish she would just drift off to sleep. You wonder if you can resolve her needs without actually getting up, especially since her siblings are finally asleep, and waking them would bring chaos. “WHAT?!” you whisper from the bottom of the stairs, trying not to disturb anyone. You hold onto a sliver of hope that maybe tonight will be different—that you can stay put and keep watching your grown-up shows.
But you’re mistaken. So, you reluctantly put your adult time on hold, taking a deep breath as you summon the last vestige of patience and head upstairs once more.
“Can you read me one more story?” she asks, clutching a book and pointing to the tiny space left in her bed, buried beneath a mountain of stuffed animals and dolls.
“Sure. I just need to…” you start, but deep down, you know you won’t return. Not tonight.
Now, before the judgmental parents come for me, let me clarify: I do all the bedtime rituals. I read stories, engage in heartfelt discussions about their day, and shower them with “I love yous.” I snuggle and plant kisses goodnight. But some nights, I simply can’t. Some nights, my reserves are utterly depleted.
It’s 8:46 p.m., and I’ve been on duty for nearly 16 hours—16 hours filled with “Mommy, can you help me?” and “Mommy, I need to play!” and the occasional “Mommy, there’s a mess!” Some nights, I’m just done. I have nothing left to give, and one more request feels like too much.
When she asks for just one more thing—a glass of water, an additional story, or another cuddle—she doesn’t grasp the exhaustion behind it. She doesn’t see that for the last two hours, I’ve been pleading for her to eat her dinner, trying to ensure she doesn’t fall off her chair, or coaxing her to eat at least one carrot. I’ve struggled through washing her hair, which she treats like a torture session, and wrestled a wiggly child into pajamas.
I’ve brushed teeth that only seem to chew on the toothbrush because I’m terrified of what the dentist will say next week. And I’ve begged her to go potty before bed, even though she insists she doesn’t have to—only to know she will need to go in 10 minutes.
I’ve read the same book for the umpteenth time because it’s the only one her brother will tolerate, and I’ve spent precious minutes searching for her favorite stuffed animal, nearly ready to incinerate them all in a fit of frustration.
There hasn’t been a single moment of peace since dawn, where someone didn’t need something: a snack, a drink, a referee, or a playmate. So when she asks for just one more thing, it feels like an insurmountable request. To her, it’s just a normal part of bedtime—something she sees as simple. But to me, at the end of my rope, it feels impossible.
We only have so much to give in a day, starting with a full cup of patience and energy that we gradually deplete. Rarely do we refill it, unless by some miracle they nap at the same time or a grandparent takes them out for a while. Most nights, we’re scraping the bottom of that cup by bedtime, hoping to make it through the evening without any more demands.
Most nights, we can manage it. But not always. Some nights, that cup is completely empty. And we stand at the bottom of the stairs, saying, “Okay, I’ll be there soon,” knowing full well we might not. We hope we don’t need to. And we pray to the patron saint of bedtime, “For the love of all that is good, please go to sleep!”
Then we sneak back to the couch, press play again, and take a long, deep breath.
For additional insights on parenting and home insemination techniques, you can check out this article. If you’re looking for expert advice, Make a Mom provides valuable information on boosting fertility. Also, UCSF’s Center offers excellent resources for those navigating pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, bedtime can feel like an overwhelming endeavor, draining our patience and energy. It’s a nightly struggle against the endless demands of motherhood, and some nights, we simply can’t accommodate one more request.