There was a time when “up all night” conjured images of wild parties, late-night cramming for exams, and perhaps a bit of romance. But those days shifted dramatically once my children arrived.
Last week, my eldest, Jake, returned home from college for a brief visit, with his flight scheduled to touch down at midnight. When delays pushed things back, my partner and I fell into a familiar rhythm: he caught some z’s while I baked brownies (because why not?), and then I nudged him awake when it was time to head to the airport. He drove, I snoozed, and by 3:30 a.m., Jake was back in the house. I stayed up to reconnect and watch him devour snacks, while my partner caught up on his rest before work.
Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but as Jake, who’s about to turn 21, filled me in on his college escapades, I realized how the tables had turned. Instead of soothing him with bedtime stories, he was now sharing tales of his own late-night adventures—leaving out a few details, of course.
The next day, I found myself reminiscing over old photos of my boys from their toddler days. Like many infants, they had a knack for keeping us awake at all hours; our youngest didn’t sleep through the night until he was two. While it made juggling work a challenge, those years were vibrant and full of life.
There were days when I couldn’t string together coherent sentences, let alone identify the mysterious stains on my shirts or recall whether I’d eaten breakfast or remembered to wear deodorant. A few times, I even donned mismatched shoes, and once, I accidentally tossed a bag of dirty diapers into my van alongside my briefcase, only to be hit by the odor an hour later. But that chaotic phase eventually passed, leading into the teenage years, when late-night conversations filled with dreams, fears, and everything in between began.
In the darkened hours, I’d hear, “Mom, I feel sick,” or “Can you read to me? I can’t sleep.” The reasons for our late-night chats were endless—from health woes to excitement about birthdays and new schools. And though the days that followed were long, those late-night moments were invaluable.
By the time they became teenagers, there didn’t need to be a specific reason for their wakefulness—they were simply wired to be up. When I couldn’t ignore the late-night noise any longer, I joined them. There was even a night when, after watching Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives with my youngest, I found myself whipping up biscuits at 2 a.m., inspired by the mouthwatering breakfast dishes we saw. We tried a green bean puree that is best left forgotten.
As I’ve grown older and my desire for sleep has intensified, I’ve faced a choice: Do I want to rest, or do I want to be present in their lives? The answer was clear. I chose to stay awake when they were most alive, even if my brain was foggy. Some of our most meaningful conversations unfolded under the moonlight.
This fall, my youngest is heading off to college. I can only hope that when he comes back home, he’ll carry on the cherished tradition of keeping me up all night, sharing stories that I can replay in my mind as I finally catch up on sleep when they’re both away. After all, I’ve got some serious shut-eye to reclaim, while my boys dive headfirst into parties, studying, and adventures of their own.
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In summary, the meaning of “up all night” has evolved from youthful revelry to a heartfelt connection with my children. As they navigate their paths, I’ll be here, ready to listen and cherish every moment, even if it means sacrificing a few hours of sleep.
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