Reflections of a sleep deprived parent

[Flufftronicus]

I wake up again, hear the slight creak of the door, feel the weight shifting on my bed, there’s someone there, someone other than my spouse and I. I wait with bated breath as the weight shifts, closer...closer… “Daddy, are you awake?” a small voice whispers. I sigh externally, and cry internally. For the seeming millionth time, one of my children is coming to invade our bed, to wriggle and squirm, to lie down horizontally, to grizzle when I try to shift them vertically, and scream in outrage if I dare attempt to take them back to their own bed.

It’s Sunday night as I write this, but it could be any night. There aren’t any weekends anymore, no work nights, no time off, no holidays, just the kids. They’re always there, taking everything, even the sleep we need to stay sane, productive, loving parents.

A few months back and by some magical cosmological alignment, some angelic intervention, or by the hand of God themself, for 4 nights in a row both kids slept through. It was wonderful, restorative, rejuvenating, life felt like it had colour and joy again, the daily minutiae of raising children even started to become enjoyable again, my partner and I felt like we hadn’t felt since she was first pregnant… something like real people again. We thanked God and rejoiced at the new normal. How hopefully we were. We should have known it wouldn’t last, but we were so thankful.

But like all children, sometimes when we ask for bread, our parents still only have rocks to give because we’re poor, tired, and heart broken. I’m not sure what God’s excuse is.

The rational part of me of course knows that our children love us, that they’re scared in the night and just want the comforting, warm, reassuring presence of their parents. I understand it and even love that I can be the safe, loving, protective Dad for those two beautiful children; but at 11am 1am, 3am, 4am, the sleep deprived part looks and only sees tiny vampires taking the last scrap of my mental resources that I need to love them.

I know I will always love my kids, always die for them, hell, always kill for them; but in the night when I’m exhausted, existing on 4 hours of broken sleep a night for the 600th night in a row, I think the worst thoughts. I get how parents ‘go for a pack of cigerettes’, I get how parents shake their kids, I get how partners turn on each other, I get how depression and anxiety forms from kid pressure alone, I get suicidal thoughts.

I wish I had a happy ending to this post. I wish i could end with life changing advice. I wish I could tell you I didn't want to punch every person who thinks they're reassuring me by saying "it doesn't last forever", or "you'll miss it when it's over" or "just take them back to bed". I wish I could, but I don't want to lie to you.

All i can say is is if this resonates at all, hi, and If you feel this way too, know that you’re not alone.

 

[Cameron143]

I wake up again, hear the slight creak of the door, feel the weight shifting on my bed, there’s someone there, someone other than my spouse and I. I wait with bated breath as the weight shifts, closer...closer… “Daddy, are you awake?” a small voice whispers. I sigh externally, and cry internally. For the seeming millionth time, one of my children is coming to invade our bed, to wriggle and squirm, to lie down horizontally, to grizzle when I try to shift them vertically, and scream in outrage if I dare attempt to take them back to their own bed.

It’s Sunday night as I write this, but it could be any night. There aren’t any weekends anymore, no work nights, no time off, no holidays, just the kids. They’re always there, taking everything, even the sleep we need to stay sane, productive, loving parents.

A few months back and by some magical cosmological alignment, some angelic intervention, or by the hand of God themself, for 4 nights in a row both kids slept through. It was wonderful, restorative, rejuvenating, life felt like it had colour and joy again, the daily minutiae of raising children even started to become enjoyable again, my partner and I felt like we hadn’t felt since she was first pregnant… something like real people again. We thanked God and rejoiced at the new normal. How hopefully we were. We should have known it wouldn’t last, but we were so thankful.

But like all children, sometimes when we ask for bread, our parents still only have rocks to give because we’re poor, tired, and heart broken. I’m not sure what God’s excuse is.

The rational part of me of course knows that our children love us, that they’re scared in the night and just want the comforting, warm, reassuring presence of their parents. I understand it and even love that I can be the safe, loving, protective Dad for those two beautiful children; but at 11am 1am, 3am, 4am, the sleep deprived part looks and only sees tiny vampires taking the last scrap of my mental resources that I need to love them.

I know I will always love my kids, always die for them, hell, always kill for them; but in the night when I’m exhausted, existing on 4 hours of broken sleep a night for the 600th night in a row, I think the worst thoughts. I get how parents ‘go for a pack of cigerettes’, I get how parents shake their kids, I get how partners turn on each other, I get how depression and anxiety forms from kid pressure alone, I get suicidal thoughts.

I wish I had a happy ending to this post. I wish i could end with life changing advice. I wish I could tell you I didn't want to punch every person who thinks they're reassuring me by saying "it doesn't last forever", or "you'll miss it when it's over" or "just take them back to bed". I wish I could, but I don't want to lie to you.

All i can say is is if this resonates at all, hi, and If you feel this way too, know that you’re not alone.

2 things:
1. It may not seem like it, but it's just for a season. It will pass.
2. There is a strength to call upon outside of yourself. Isaiah 40:31.

 

[EternalFire]

I wake up again, hear the slight creak of the door, feel the weight shifting on my bed, there’s someone there, someone other than my spouse and I. I wait with bated breath as the weight shifts, closer...closer… “Daddy, are you awake?” a small voice whispers. I sigh externally, and cry internally. For the seeming millionth time, one of my children is coming to invade our bed, to wriggle and squirm, to lie down horizontally, to grizzle when I try to shift them vertically, and scream in outrage if I dare attempt to take them back to their own bed.

It’s Sunday night as I write this, but it could be any night. There aren’t any weekends anymore, no work nights, no time off, no holidays, just the kids. They’re always there, taking everything, even the sleep we need to stay sane, productive, loving parents.

A few months back and by some magical cosmological alignment, some angelic intervention, or by the hand of God themself, for 4 nights in a row both kids slept through. It was wonderful, restorative, rejuvenating, life felt like it had colour and joy again, the daily minutiae of raising children even started to become enjoyable again, my partner and I felt like we hadn’t felt since she was first pregnant… something like real people again. We thanked God and rejoiced at the new normal. How hopefully we were. We should have known it wouldn’t last, but we were so thankful.

But like all children, sometimes when we ask for bread, our parents still only have rocks to give because we’re poor, tired, and heart broken. I’m not sure what God’s excuse is.

The rational part of me of course knows that our children love us, that they’re scared in the night and just want the comforting, warm, reassuring presence of their parents. I understand it and even love that I can be the safe, loving, protective Dad for those two beautiful children; but at 11am 1am, 3am, 4am, the sleep deprived part looks and only sees tiny vampires taking the last scrap of my mental resources that I need to love them.

I know I will always love my kids, always die for them, hell, always kill for them; but in the night when I’m exhausted, existing on 4 hours of broken sleep a night for the 600th night in a row, I think the worst thoughts. I get how parents ‘go for a pack of cigerettes’, I get how parents shake their kids, I get how partners turn on each other, I get how depression and anxiety forms from kid pressure alone, I get suicidal thoughts.

I wish I had a happy ending to this post. I wish i could end with life changing advice. I wish I could tell you I didn't want to punch every person who thinks they're reassuring me by saying "it doesn't last forever", or "you'll miss it when it's over" or "just take them back to bed". I wish I could, but I don't want to lie to you.

All i can say is is if this resonates at all, hi, and If you feel this way too, know that you’re not alone.

My advice is don’t let the tail wag the dog.

At this point, professional intervention is probably necessary in developing a sleep plan/schedule/routine.

You will really be helping your children, both in the short term and the long term, if you teach them how to sleep and the importance of proper rest.

 

[seoulsearch]

I wake up again, hear the slight creak of the door, feel the weight shifting on my bed, there’s someone there, someone other than my spouse and I. I wait with bated breath as the weight shifts, closer...closer… “Daddy, are you awake?” a small voice whispers. I sigh externally, and cry internally. For the seeming millionth time, one of my children is coming to invade our bed, to wriggle and squirm, to lie down horizontally, to grizzle when I try to shift them vertically, and scream in outrage if I dare attempt to take them back to their own bed.

It’s Sunday night as I write this, but it could be any night. There aren’t any weekends anymore, no work nights, no time off, no holidays, just the kids. They’re always there, taking everything, even the sleep we need to stay sane, productive, loving parents.

A few months back and by some magical cosmological alignment, some angelic intervention, or by the hand of God themself, for 4 nights in a row both kids slept through. It was wonderful, restorative, rejuvenating, life felt like it had colour and joy again, the daily minutiae of raising children even started to become enjoyable again, my partner and I felt like we hadn’t felt since she was first pregnant… something like real people again. We thanked God and rejoiced at the new normal. How hopefully we were. We should have known it wouldn’t last, but we were so thankful.

But like all children, sometimes when we ask for bread, our parents still only have rocks to give because we’re poor, tired, and heart broken. I’m not sure what God’s excuse is.

The rational part of me of course knows that our children love us, that they’re scared in the night and just want the comforting, warm, reassuring presence of their parents. I understand it and even love that I can be the safe, loving, protective Dad for those two beautiful children; but at 11am 1am, 3am, 4am, the sleep deprived part looks and only sees tiny vampires taking the last scrap of my mental resources that I need to love them.

I know I will always love my kids, always die for them, hell, always kill for them; but in the night when I’m exhausted, existing on 4 hours of broken sleep a night for the 600th night in a row, I think the worst thoughts. I get how parents ‘go for a pack of cigerettes’, I get how parents shake their kids, I get how partners turn on each other, I get how depression and anxiety forms from kid pressure alone, I get suicidal thoughts.

I wish I had a happy ending to this post. I wish i could end with life changing advice. I wish I could tell you I didn't want to punch every person who thinks they're reassuring me by saying "it doesn't last forever", or "you'll miss it when it's over" or "just take them back to bed". I wish I could, but I don't want to lie to you.

All i can say is is if this resonates at all, hi, and If you feel this way too, know that you’re not alone.

Hi @Flufftronicus,

Great name! I'm so sorry you're having these struggles. I don't have kids myself but spent a few years helping to raise someone else's young children. I have nothing but the utmost respect for parents and the challenges they face.

There is a YouTube channel I watch called That Awkward Mom, and while her videos are focused on cleaning, she is a Christian who is married with two small children. Their youngest is still an infant, but the older child is around 5.

In one of her videos, she explained that she and her husband have a "traffic light" lamp for their son in his room with only two lights (red and green,) and each one lights up separately. I don't know exactly how it works, whether if it's on a timer or if the parents control it with a remote (or both,) but they have taught their son that when the light is red, he is to stay in his room.

At a certain time each morning (but of course, their son can't tell time yet,) the light will change to green, and he knows he can leave his room and go find Mom and Dad. But as long as the light is red, he knows he must stay in his own room and amuses himself with toys and books. Of course, he knows he can leave at any time if there's an emergency.

I thought that was an ingenious idea and if I'm ever in a situation where I'm taking care of kids again, I would definitely try it out.

Again, I apologize that I don't have an exact link (I can't remember which of her videos showed this,) but maybe it would be a helpful idea.

I've said a prayer for you and your family and God bless you for being such a hard-working dad.

 

[Magenta]

All i can say is is if this resonates at all, hi, and If you feel this way too, know that you’re not alone.

Your writing skills are impressive .. Wouldn't that be something, if years down the road, you realize
the fact that your children kept you awake far more often than you would have preferred, contributed
in some major way to the honing of a craft that now supports the family? Just a random thought .

 

[HeIsHere]

I wake up again, hear the slight creak of the door, feel the weight shifting on my bed, there’s someone there, someone other than my spouse and I. I wait with bated breath as the weight shifts, closer...closer… “Daddy, are you awake?” a small voice whispers. I sigh externally, and cry internally. For the seeming millionth time, one of my children is coming to invade our bed, to wriggle and squirm, to lie down horizontally, to grizzle when I try to shift them vertically, and scream in outrage if I dare attempt to take them back to their own bed.

It’s Sunday night as I write this, but it could be any night. There aren’t any weekends anymore, no work nights, no time off, no holidays, just the kids. They’re always there, taking everything, even the sleep we need to stay sane, productive, loving parents.

A few months back and by some magical cosmological alignment, some angelic intervention, or by the hand of God themself, for 4 nights in a row both kids slept through. It was wonderful, restorative, rejuvenating, life felt like it had colour and joy again, the daily minutiae of raising children even started to become enjoyable again, my partner and I felt like we hadn’t felt since she was first pregnant… something like real people again. We thanked God and rejoiced at the new normal. How hopefully we were. We should have known it wouldn’t last, but we were so thankful.

But like all children, sometimes when we ask for bread, our parents still only have rocks to give because we’re poor, tired, and heart broken. I’m not sure what God’s excuse is.

The rational part of me of course knows that our children love us, that they’re scared in the night and just want the comforting, warm, reassuring presence of their parents. I understand it and even love that I can be the safe, loving, protective Dad for those two beautiful children; but at 11am 1am, 3am, 4am, the sleep deprived part looks and only sees tiny vampires taking the last scrap of my mental resources that I need to love them.

I know I will always love my kids, always die for them, hell, always kill for them; but in the night when I’m exhausted, existing on 4 hours of broken sleep a night for the 600th night in a row, I think the worst thoughts. I get how parents ‘go for a pack of cigerettes’, I get how parents shake their kids, I get how partners turn on each other, I get how depression and anxiety forms from kid pressure alone, I get suicidal thoughts.

I wish I had a happy ending to this post. I wish i could end with life changing advice. I wish I could tell you I didn't want to punch every person who thinks they're reassuring me by saying "it doesn't last forever", or "you'll miss it when it's over" or "just take them back to bed". I wish I could, but I don't want to lie to you.

All i can say is is if this resonates at all, hi, and If you feel this way too, know that you’re not alone.

I would say reassure them everything is fine and bring them back to there own bed. Be consistent and firm.

They will be fine and after a while they will stay put.

 

[Beckie]

Mine always woke up in their own beds. I was not going to sleep with them there so when they went to sleep back to their beds.. They never did sleep in our bed.