I woke up at 9 a.m. on a Saturday, greeted by the cheerful tunes of Moana echoing from the living room. My three kids—yes, even the youngest—had been up for who knows how long without bothering me or my partner, Sam. She was still in bed, likely enjoying the rare luxury of sleep after a decade of early mornings, while I lay there, staring at the ceiling.
We had decided that we were done expanding our family. Steps had been taken, and we were simply waiting for our youngest, Riley, to stop wandering into our room at daybreak asking for milk, cereal, or any random snack that popped into her mind at 3 a.m.
My older two, Ben and Mia, aged 10 and 7, were fully capable of getting themselves breakfast and entertaining Riley, if only they could follow my advice. My hope was that they’d finally take charge on those weekend mornings, allowing Sam and me to enjoy a little more sleep.
Honestly, we were in a constant negotiation for sleep, a precious commodity in our household. The dream of waking up without the chaos of kids calling for us was akin to finding hidden treasure.
I turned to Sam, who was slowly awakening, squinting at the sunlight filtering through the curtains. “What time is it?” she asked, sounding bewildered, as if trying to remember the last time we had slept past dawn. It felt surreal, almost as if we had slipped into an alternate reality, reminiscent of the days before parenthood when we complained about sleeping too much.
The reality of parenting often includes a painful lack of sleep, a topic rarely discussed openly. Sure, I love my kids, but there are moments when sleep deprivation feels like a tidal wave crashing down. Before children, the concept of sacrifice was abstract, but now it was a daily routine—nights spent awake, mornings that came too soon.
The more kids you have, the more complicated bedtime becomes. One might settle down easily, while another resists sleep. Just when you think they’re all asleep, the youngest might need a midnight change. It’s a relentless cycle of sleepless nights and early mornings, stretching on for years until you forget what it’s like to sleep in.
“It’s 9:05 a.m.,” I said, barely able to believe it.
Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. She lay back, staring at the ceiling, momentarily speechless.
“This might just be the best day of my life,” I declared.
Sam didn’t respond with words; she simply took my hand, and we lingered in the moment, savoring the rare opportunity to enjoy our bed in peace.
But, of course, peace is fleeting in parenthood. Before long, Riley tiptoed into our room, her face smeared with chocolate, a delightful disaster that dripped down onto her Peppa Pig pajamas. She beamed up at us, clearly proud of her sugary conquest.
I had no idea where she found the chocolate, but it was evident that the living room was likely a battlefield of crumbs and sticky fingers.
In that moment, though, I didn’t care. I felt grateful that for once, we had the chance to sleep in. I wasn’t sure how often this would happen, but today filled me with a renewed sense of optimism about parenting. Sleeping in until 9 a.m. had almost restored my sense of normalcy. It’s amazing how a few extra hours of sleep can change your outlook.
Riley tried to climb into our bed, but Sam intercepted her before she spread chocolate everywhere. She scooped her up and carried her off to the bathroom for a much-needed clean-up.
As I sat on the edge of the bed stretching, I heard Sam say, “Thank you for letting us sleep.”
Riley giggled, and I headed into the living room to confront the delightful mess. As a parent, I often say I’d do anything for a little more sleep—and honestly, that chocolate mess was totally worth it. At least it wasn’t poop.
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Summary:
This piece captures the blissful moment when a couple gets to sleep in because their kids manage on their own for a rare Saturday morning. It explores the challenges of parenting and the importance of sleep, reminding us that even amidst chaos, moments of joy can be found.