By: Mia Thompson
“There never was a child so lovely but his mother was glad to get him to sleep.” –Ralph Waldo Emerson
The dishes are washed, the little one is finally asleep, and I can finally ditch my bra. I collapse onto the couch as an avalanche of “to-do”s floods my mind.
Soak that onesie stained with beet juice. Plan our meals for the week. Write a grocery list. Update the baby book for months 7, 8, and 9. Order prints from our last few family photo sessions. Unsubscribe from the avalanche of junk mail cluttering our recycling bin. Send those framed prints off to the gallery. Clean out my overcrowded closet. Start planning our summer getaway. Finish that book gathering dust on my nightstand. And oh, write this essay.
These “should”s buzz around me like pesky flies, and I swat them away as I reach for my second glass of wine.
My body aches, my muscles groan, and my hair seems to be shedding at an alarming rate. Nearly 10 months after giving birth, I often feel like a stranger in my own skin. Who knew motherhood would feel like living someone else’s life — because that’s exactly what it is.
I spend my days catering to my baby’s needs, interpreting cries and coos, and navigating the challenges of parenting. When he wakes, I leap into action. When he shows signs of sleepiness, I employ my best Jedi mind tricks to lull him into slumber.
Dressing him is like wrestling an angry tiger. Changing diapers feels akin to pinning a slippery alligator. Mealtime resembles a battle with a snapping turtle. At this stage, motherhood is a full-contact sport, and my energy drains away like a slow leak.
In the early days, when my son was a cuddly little bundle clueless about day and night, those quiet 3 a.m. feedings felt like a welcomed pause from the chaos. It was just me and my baby, free from the weight of the “should”s. Even on the toughest nights when exhaustion clouded my thoughts, I found comfort in the knowledge that dawn would break, bringing a fresh start with it.
But as my baby transformed from a newborn into an active infant, the seasons changed. Winter came, bringing a heavy cloak of sleep deprivation. After months of nighttime wake-ups, the charm of those late-night feedings had faded into sheer exhaustion, yet I found myself staying up later and later. I was still searching for that precious stillness of earlier days.
One particularly long night, I lounged on the couch, scrolling through my social media feed, the TV flickering in the background, and my glass of wine within reach. As my partner headed upstairs, he casually asked, “Why don’t you just go to bed?” It dawned on me: I live his life all day, so I relish the moments of quiet when he’s asleep. Most nights, I’m too drained for anything beyond binge-watching Real Housewives.
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In summary, motherhood is a whirlwind of chaos and exhaustion, where the night becomes a refuge for mothers seeking a moment of peace amidst the demands of the day.
Keyphrase: Why Moms Stay Up Late
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