“Mom! Mom? Mooooooom!”
You know the drill. After a long day, you finally sink into the couch, a glass of wine in hand and a few chocolates within reach. Just when you think you can relax, your little one’s voice breaks the silence. What could it possibly be this time? You’ve been through this countless times before, night after night. Another request for water? More snuggles? Maybe a lost stuffed animal or a phantom noise that only she can hear? Whatever it is, you know you’re about to be pulled from your precious adult time once again.
“WHAT?!” you hiss from the bottom of the stairs, careful not to wake the siblings who are sound asleep. You briefly fantasize about resolving her needs without actually having to move from your comfy spot. Spoiler alert: that’s not happening.
With a heavy heart, you muster the last bit of patience and make your way upstairs, knowing you’re about to dive into another round of bedtime antics.
“Can you read me one more story?” she asks, clutching a book while pointing to the minuscule space left on her bed, which is otherwise overflowing with toys.
“Sure, just give me a moment…” you reply, but deep down, you know that tonight might not be the night for that story.
Now, before anyone jumps in with judgments, let me clarify: I do the bedtime rituals. A lot. I read, I pray, I ask about her day, and I shower her with affection. But some nights, I simply can’t. Some nights, I feel utterly drained after being on call for nearly 16 hours straight, juggling requests like “Mommy, can you help me?” and “Mommy, I need a snack!”
By the time the clock reads 8:46 p.m., there’s nothing left in my motherhood tank. When she asks for one more thing—whether it’s another glass of water or an additional snuggle—she doesn’t realize the mental and physical exhaustion that has accumulated throughout the day. She isn’t aware that I’ve just spent two hours coaxing her to finish dinner, dealing with bathroom emergencies, and wrestling her brother into pajamas.
There’s been no respite since dawn, and now, the mere thought of one more bedtime request feels like climbing Everest. To her, it’s just another innocent ask, but for me, it’s the last straw.
We only have so much to give in a day. It’s as if we start each morning with a full cup of patience and energy, only to have it drained as the day progresses. Rarely do we get a refill unless some miracle occurs—perhaps they nap at the same time or a relative takes them out for a few hours. Most days, we’re running on fumes by bedtime, desperately hoping we can make it until they fall asleep without needing anything else.
Some nights, that cup is completely empty. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, I think, “Okay, I’ll be there soon,” while secretly hoping that I can postpone the inevitable. I offer up a silent prayer to the patron saint of bedtime, begging for a moment of peace so I can enjoy my show in peace.
And so I retreat back to the couch, hit play, and take a deep breath.
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In summary, bedtime can often feel like the hardest part of the day for parents. It’s a time when the demands seem endless and patience runs thin. The struggle is real, but it’s a relatable battle many parents face in their daily routines.