“There never was a child so delightful that his mother wasn’t eager to see him asleep.” –Ralph Waldo Emerson
As the day winds down, the dishes are washed, the little one is tucked in, and I’ve finally ditched the bra. I plop down on the couch, and a torrent of “to-do” thoughts floods my mind.
Soak the onesie from today’s beet mishap. Plan meals for the week. Create a grocery list. Update the baby book with entries for months 7, 8, and 9. Order prints from the last three photo shoots. Unsubscribe from the avalanche of junk mail cluttering our recycling bin. Send those cherished prints off for framing. Declutter my closet. Start mapping out our summer getaway. Finish that book gathering dust on the shelf. Wrap up this essay.
These “must-dos” and “should-dos” buzz around me like busy bees, but I swat them away and pour myself a second glass of wine.
My body aches. My muscles protest. My hair is shedding in clumps. Nearly 10 months postpartum, and I often feel like a stranger in my own skin. It’s like I’m living someone else’s life — because I am.
All day long, I’m on my child’s schedule, predicting his needs and translating his cries. When he stirs, I’m instantly alert. As he grows sleepy, I leap into our “bedtime routine,” employing every trick in the book to soothe him to sleep. Dressing him resembles a wrestling match with a tiger, changing diapers feels like grappling with an alligator, and mealtime is akin to feeding a snapping turtle. At this stage, motherhood is a full-contact sport, draining my energy with each passing hour until my next lukewarm cup of coffee.
In those early days, when my son was a tiny bundle who couldn’t tell night from day, I found solace in the quiet of 3 a.m. feedings. Those moments offered a break from all the “shoulds,” allowing me to simply enjoy being with my baby. Even when I felt like the most exhausted, bewildered mother on the planet, I knew dawn would come, bringing the promise of a new day — a chance to do it all again, hopefully a little better.
But as my boy transitioned from a newborn to an energetic infant, the seasons changed. Winter arrived, blanketing me with a heavy layer of sleep deprivation. After months of waking up multiple times a night, it stopped being cute or charming. I was utterly drained yet found myself staying up later, yearning for that peaceful quiet I used to cherish.
One night, as I lounged on the couch scrolling through social media with the TV buzzing in the background and a glass of wine in hand, my partner asked, “Why don’t you just head to bed?”
Because all day, I’ve been living his little life, and it’s only when he sleeps that I can reclaim a piece of my own. Often, I’m just too exhausted for anything more than indulging in a few episodes of Real Housewives.
For more insights on parenting, you can check out our post on home insemination at this link. Also, if you’re seeking an authoritative source on the topic, visit Make a Mom’s Artificial Insemination Kit for helpful information. For additional resources on pregnancy and assisted conception, the NHS provides an excellent guide.
In summary, late nights for moms often serve as a precious escape from the daily demands of motherhood. It’s a time to unwind, think, and sometimes just indulge in a guilty pleasure while reclaiming a bit of personal space.