The Night That Wouldn’t End

We haven’t had one of those nights in a while.. the kind where you’re up and down, clock-watching, wondering if the sun will ever rise. But last night came pretty close.

From 2 a.m. to 4 a.m., my toddler was coughing and restless, unable to settle. It felt like absolute torture.

This is one part of parenthood my pre-kids self could never have understood, the lengths you’ll go to care for that little human, even when every bone in your body is begging you to sleep. You’ll sit there in the dark, bleary-eyed, and still pour every last drop of energy you have into comforting them.

Don’t get me wrong, by 3:45 a.m., I was feeling desperate. The world seemed to be crumbling around me in that small, quiet, sleep-deprived way only other parents can relate to. But finally, I managed to get her to sleep on her side, rubbed in Euky Rub, the steamer blasting away (and tell me, do steamers put out less these days, or was childhood just… steamier?).

And just like that. Peace.

It reminded me so much of those newborn days. The constant wakes. The unpredictable hours. Back then, I expected it. I even became skilled at anticipating when the next cry would come. When you know you’re going to be up, it somehow softens the blow.

But nights like this? The ones that hit out of nowhere? They throw you.

So here I am, writing this while the little one is still asleep. I probably should be sleeping too but isn’t that the story of motherhood? Everyone says, “Sleep when the baby sleeps.” That age-old wives’ tale has been passed around for decades. I’ve never once followed it. And neither has any mum I’ve ever met. Let’s just call that one officially debunked.

Motherhood has made me the most tired I have ever been. But strangely enough, it’s also shown me just how much I can do running on almost no sleep.