It’s 3:45am and I’m up for the third time since 2am with a baby who just won’t sleep, trying to nurse him back down. There have been quite a few tears shed by both of us. I’ve been saying I love these middle of the night feeds when it’s just me and my son, snuggled together while it feels like the rest of the world sleeps. Tonight is much less picturesque. Tonight feels like a slog. I’m glancing at my phone to try and keep awake — but not too often, since the light seems to be bothering my son. “Eat faster,” I think. I just want to be back in my own bed with my head on a pillow, not with a crick in my neck as I sit upright in this rocking chair.
It’s 3:48am and in a puddle of exhaustion and self pity, I notice a Substack notification on my phone. One of my reads has just published a post called “The Joy of the Mundane.” Well that’s a bit on the nose. I quite literally cannot think of a more timely — oh shoot, the phone light is waking the baby again!
It’s 3:51am and it’s time to switch to nursing on the other side. I definitely think I dozed off there again. “Just a few more minutes, and I can head back to my own bed!” I rejoice. This mundanity is not evoking much joy right now. Of course, I love these snuggles, nuzzling my nose into his soft hair, and the gentle caress of his tiny hands on my breast as he nurses. But all of this just makes me feel so weary when paired with my own lack of sleep.
It’s 3:55am and I’m starting to get philosophical. It seems to me that we live in a constant tension. Yes, life is mostly ordinary, but isn’t it those moments that bring the most joy? I don’t sit around every day thinking about the Taylor Swift concert I went to last year. My brain is more occupied remembering the moment my son first laughed, or the great conversation we had with friends over dinner that one time, or how I’d love to make some sourdough bread again soon (it’s been too long!). While the extraordinary moments of life are certainly memorable experiences that I turn to often, they don’t occupy my everyday thoughts the way the simple moments of daily life do. And they don’t fill my cup up in the same way either. We seem to live in this tension of a society that demands the next best thing, the next sensation, the next high, when really we all live pretty mundane lives. Yet a brief observation will also tell you that we all seem to be yearing for more quiet days, more slow and simple moments, less noise.
It’s 4:02am and the sound machine whooshes all around us as I bounce and burp my son to get him settled back in his crib. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve done this exact ritual. Some nights, I wake up expecting to be sitting in the nursery with a baby in my arms and instead am startled to find that I am in my own bed again. I immediately worry where the baby is and if he’s okay because I don’t remember where I put him before the memories of this same exact bounce, burp, settle cycle return. Tonight, with bated breath I set him down in his crib — success! Oh, how I loathe sleep regressions that make these rhythms I normally love so difficult for us both.
It’s 4:05am and I am finally back in bed, cold without the warmth of my son in my arms. I just spent the last 20 minutes wishing away the time so I could be right here, and yet I miss him. While tonight was hard, I know it is one of those mundane, ordinary moments that I will look back on one day with deep fondness. Despite the frustration and the tears, I will one day miss the sleepy hands the reach for me in the middle of the night, unable to settle down without my particular comfort. What a privilege it is to be my son’s safe place, even when it feels like just another diffcult night together. The slog of a sleepless night is still a joy. The quietness of our time together fills my cup more than any experience could. And one day, I know I’ll miss being awake at 3am.
