I am utterly drained. Last night, I found myself dozing off in my king-sized bed, then moving to the top bunk of a bunk bed, shifting to a twin-sized lower bunk, and finally resting on the floor beside the crib, propping my head on a Boppy pillow, all between 10 PM and 6:30 AM.
I’m so fatigued that I leave visible impressions on the hardwood floor from pacing at night. Honestly, I should invest in a pedometer; I might burn more calories while wandering around at night than during the day. Forget that—I do burn more calories with all the walking and constant breastfeeding.
Even my dog has given up on sleeping in the bedroom because he’s not nocturnal and needs his rest. I’m so exhausted I once accidentally mixed orange juice into my coffee and squeezed tinted moisturizer onto my toothbrush.
I’m so tired that I wore my pants inside out without realizing it until I got to my Pure Barre class, where other women gave me strange looks. I had to make a quick detour to the bathroom to fix it.
I’ve looked for my keys in the freezer, having found them there before, after unloading groceries and mistakenly placing them next to the frozen peas. I even took my home phone along in my purse when I dropped the kids off at school today.
I hang up the phone after scheduling an appointment, only to forget all the details immediately, too embarrassed to call back. My five-year-old recently completed a Mother’s Day project where she claimed my favorite thing is sleep and my go-to drink is coffee.
I genuinely cannot recall the last time I slept through the night without interruption, but I’m fairly certain it was over two years ago. I am basically a milk factory for my nine-month-old. I’ve Googled “baby sleep” over a thousand times in the last nine months.
It infuriates me to read comments on parenting forums where some anonymous parents brag that their child started sleeping through the night at six weeks because the mother had a “nighttime routine.” Thanks, anonymous parent—I’ve never tried anything like that!
I also get frustrated when friends post on social media about their first child sleeping through the night at just a few months old. These parents don’t understand the burden they place on those of us who didn’t birth good sleepers.
I own more than a dozen sleep books. I’ve even worried that I might have sideswiped a parked car while three kids screamed in the back of my van. I was late for an appointment, caught in heavy traffic, and when I returned five minutes later, the car was gone. I drove to the police station to confess my potential mishap, and the officer simply told me to go home and take a nap, warning me that someone could take advantage of my exhausted state.
With the baby on my hip, I informed the officer that I drive a minivan and had never bumped into anything until now, but both sides of my car are scratched up from repeated encounters with my garage and trash cans. I even told him the dimensions of my minivan are odd, and my husband has had similar mishaps.
On one occasion, I struggled repeatedly to parallel park on an empty street while a construction worker watched my futile attempts. Eventually, I gave up and drove around the corner to park, embarrassed by my continued failures. After having three kids, I’ve concluded that parking skills are the first to go when you’re overwhelmed.
Making small talk has become a challenge. I often put my foot in my mouth and then cringe at what I’ve said. Just yesterday, my daughter’s teacher complimented her pink Converse sneakers, and I awkwardly blurted out, “Oh, her husband is obsessed with shoes.” I meant my husband, of course, who has a penchant for impractical children’s footwear.
Though I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, I find myself munching on chocolate chips or leftover Halloween candy in the afternoon just to make it to bedtime.
I acknowledge that I’ve brought this on myself. With three children under five, the odds of at least one waking me at night are exceedingly high. If I’m up three times with the baby and twice with my three-year-old, that adds up to five interruptions. The conclusion? Three kids mean I will never sleep soundly again.
I now understand the phrase “bone tired.” I literally feel achy all over. I see why sleep deprivation is considered a form of torture. I’m so tired—I urgently need to sleep train the baby!
Summary
This humorous yet relatable account details the overwhelming exhaustion that comes with parenting young children. The author captures the daily struggles, sleep deprivation, and chaotic moments that many parents experience, confirming that the journey of motherhood can be both exhausting and hilarious.