Avanti Chaturvedi writes about why tired moms stay up late. To read her bio, click here.
Aaah! The sweet trickle of satisfaction that crawls through every time I see my kitchen counter at the end of the day. Nothing speaks louder that I managed to cruise through another day without being a slob, than a clean kitchen.
I am not a slob. In fact, quite the opposite. I can raise hell upon encountering mess (especially one caused by my Dear Husband).
Every night, as I enter the room to my fast asleep baby, I can hear the sound of his deep breath in the perfectly still bedroom. The only moving thing in the room is the slow rise and fall of his tiny chest. No matter how hard I want to cuddle him in my arms, I dare not. I’m, indeed, even cautious of my own breath lest it woke him up.
Life seems to come to a standstill in these late hours of the day, like it has Paused.
Like every day, except a lucky few, today was hard. We fought sleep for an hour before finally accepting defeat. It started with the usual hell raising upon being changed into his sleep suit followed by a fit about not wanting his hair to be combed. And did I mention how sleepy he was as I sat to have my dinner?
If you think I am tired- I’m fatigued. Just like every day. And if you thought I was going to crash into bed right away, you’re wrong. They say, there aren’t enough hours in a day, but mothers are capable of squeezing every last drop out of it.
These few drops before the day ends are my time. My trade-off for being a mother, and I am not going to sleep them over.
Sure, my arms ache from holding my growing baby all daty and my eyes burn, for I stayed up late last night too. But, this too is my trade-off for being a mother. In the dead of the night, when everyone’s asleep, is when I spend doing the things I want to do, like mulling over inconsequential thoughts.
I cherish every moment of this time before my baby starts to toss in his sleep. That’s when I must go to him. After all, he needs his mamma no matter what time of the day it is.
I don’t stop being a mother even in these late hours. Yes, I am more myself in these very hours than I have been in nine months, or in the nine months of being pregnant before that. But, I am and will always be a mother first.
And as I put him to bed again, with sleep threatening to carry me away, I will turn over to the side and keep my eyes open for as long as I can, because I know that once a new day breaks in, there will be no alone time. I will probably even be woken up by little hands excitedly slapping all over my face.
Of course, I’ll be tired. Mothers are always tired. But I will not swap it for all the world’s wealth, for there will one day be quieter days and plenty of time to sleep through the nights.