“Mom! Mom? MOOOOOOOMMMMMMYYYYYY!”
You know the drill. You’ve just settled down for the evening, finally enjoying a glass of wine in one hand and some sweets in the other. But, of course, here comes that familiar call. What could she possibly want now? You already know the answer, having faced this nightly ritual for what feels like an eternity. Another glass of water, a few extra hugs, a blanket adjustment, or perhaps a stuffed sloth retrieval from under the bed. Maybe it’s a noise she heard, a shadow she spotted, or even a booger that needs addressing. Who really knows? You sit there, contemplating if she’ll simply drift off to sleep on her own, praying you can avoid having to get up.
“WHAT?!” you whisper-shout from the other end of the hall, careful not to disturb her sleeping siblings. You cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you can resolve her needs without having to pause your show—whether it’s Chopped, Fixer Upper, or Friends. But deep down, you know you’re fooling yourself. So, you reluctantly abandon your long-awaited adult time, digging deep to muster the last bit of patience you have, and head upstairs once again.
“Can you read me one more story?” she asks, clutching a book and pointing to the tiny corner of her bed that is miraculously free of stuffed animals and dolls.
“Sure… I just need to…” you reply, but you know you won’t be back. Not tonight, at least if you’re anything like me.
Now, before the judgmental mothers come charging in, let me clarify: I do the bedtime routine—often. I engage in reading, prayers, discussing our days, asking about her favorite parts of school, and delivering all the “I love yous” I can muster. I provide plenty of cuddles and goodnight kisses.
Yet, some nights are different. Some nights, my patience tank runs dry. At 8:46 PM, after nearly 16 hours of being “Mommy,” I’ve had enough. From wiping butts to playing games, to dealing with snack requests and the endless “Mommy!” calls, I sometimes find myself utterly spent. On those nights, when she asks for just one more thing—be it a glass of water, a book, or a cuddle—she doesn’t realize that I’ve already spent the last two hours negotiating dinner, coaxing her to eat at least one carrot, and wrestling a squirming toddler into pajamas.
She doesn’t see the struggle I face to brush the teeth of kids who only pretend to brush because I fear what the dentist will say during our next visit. Or the time I spent searching for her pink kitty (not that one, the other one) because, apparently, sleep is impossible without it.
By the time evening rolls around, there hasn’t been a single five-minute break where someone hasn’t needed something—a snack, a drink, or a referee. When she asks for one last thing, it feels like a mountain of expectation. But to her, it’s just a regular request. For me, it’s an insurmountable task.
We start each day with our patience and energy levels full, but throughout the day, we chip away at that reserve. Rarely does it get replenished unless some miracle occurs, like simultaneous naps or a surprise takeout dinner. Most days, by the time nighttime arrives, we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel, just hoping to make it until they’re all asleep without further demands.
Most nights, we manage. But some nights, that proverbial cup is empty. And so, we stand at the bottom of the stairs, saying, “Okay, I’ll be there soon,” even though we know we might not. We pray to St. Bedtime, the patron saint of “For the Love of God, Go to Sleep,” hoping they will just drift off. And then, we sneak back to our couch, hit play, and take a long, deep breath.
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In summary, the nightly struggle of bedtime can be overwhelming for parents, as the demands of children often exceed the dwindling patience and energy they have left at the end of a long day.