Feb. 4, 2017
He’s unwell again. Initially, it appears to be just a mild fever—possibly from teething—but it quickly escalates. I notice spots in his throat and a rash on his face. His temperature spikes to alarming levels of 102, 103, and even 104. The owl-shaped monitor on my nightstand chimes, “Mamaaaaaaa.” I toss on my soft striped robe, pull my hair into a messy ponytail, and brace myself for an exhausting night ahead.
We are embarking on an all-nighter, but not the fun kind that college students or newlywed couples experience. This night will lack romance and will not be a tale to recount at the office while waiting for a meeting room. There won’t be champagne flutes left behind or clothes strewn across the floor—though, in fairness, that’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility. Instead, we must summon every ounce of strength to endure the next eight hours and somehow appear functional at work the following day without looking like we’ve been through the wringer.
Hours 1 to 2
The initial rush of adrenaline makes me feel optimistic. I can handle this situation. As long as he remains stable, perhaps he’ll fall asleep soon and we can salvage the night. I arm myself with Tylenol, Motrin, and a thermometer, determined to avoid a trip to the ER.
Hours 3 to 4
I begin bargaining with him. Just a little longer, and then it’ll be time for Mama to sleep. He must be amused by my attempts; he has other plans. With his adorable pout and distressed expression, he has me right where he wants me. “Rub,” he demands, pointing to his back. I comply, swaying back and forth and concocting ridiculous lyrics to fit the tune of “Twinkle, Twinkle.” I’m now on my 327th rendition of “Levi, Levi, you’re the best. You shine brighter than all the rest.” Not my proudest moment, but sleep deprivation can do strange things to a writer.
Hours 5 to 6
As the night drags on, my energy wanes. I continue to rock and sing, trying to stay positive: it’s just a virus, it won’t last forever, and many kids are facing worse illnesses. I convince myself to hang in there, but the sun is creeping closer, and as I try to sneak out of the room, the creaky floorboards betray me, awakening his tired little system. Back to square one.
Hours 7 to 8
Hope is fading fast. I surrender, my little one has won again. “Vee-yos?” Yes, watch all the videos you want. I bring him into my bed, fire up the Kindle, and pull up YouTube. Anything short of adult content will do, so we settle on his current favorite, Blippi. As the first “Wheels on the Bus” video concludes, I ride the fine line between consciousness and sleep, making silent bargains with my tired brain, hoping Blippi will queue up the tractor song next. He delivers, and I silently curse my choices while embracing this devil’s deal for a few more precious minutes of shut-eye.
Hour 9
The dawn breaks. Somehow, we’ve made it through the night. Mostly. There’s no guarantee we’ll survive until evening, but my immediate goal is clear: find extra childcare so I can fuel up on caffeine and stay employed. Lunch will become my napping hour. Food can wait. Maybe I’ll even snag a quick nap in the backseat of the car. A 34-degree day won’t deter me; I’m determined to enjoy 60 blissful minutes of peace—Blippi, binky, and baby-free. Just as I drift into that blissful state, my phone buzzes. “He’s throwing up everything I give him. What should I do?” says my sitter. “I’ll be right there,” I reply with a resigned sigh. At least I’m already in the car.
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Summary
Enduring a sleepless night as a parent is a grueling experience filled with emotional and physical challenges. From managing a sick child to negotiating for sleep, the journey is fraught with exhaustion and determination. Despite the struggles, moments of resilience shine through, showcasing the relentless spirit of parenthood.
Keyphrase: sleepless night as a parent
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