It’s 3 AM again. Your second child calls out, and despite the exhaustion that feels bone-deep, you go. Because that’s what love looks like in the dark hours, showing up even when your body is begging for sleep.
When Love Costs Sleep
I see you there, deep in sleep deprivation, responding to your child’s calls with the automatic reflex of a parent who loves fiercely. The world tells us sleep training should work, that by now things should be easier, that somehow your second child should follow the same pattern as your first. But children are not formulas, and love doesn’t always follow the advice in parenting books.
Every night when you hear that voice calling for you, there’s a moment – maybe just a split second – where you want to pull the blanket over your head and pretend you didn’t hear. And then love wins, and you go. This internal struggle doesn’t make you a bad parent. It makes you human.
The truth is, responding to your child comes from a place of deep love, even when it costs you the sleep your body desperately needs. You’re not choosing between being a good parent and taking care of yourself – you’re caught in the impossible space where both needs exist simultaneously, and right now, your child’s needs are louder than your own.
The Reality Behind “Still Functioning”
“I’m still functioning” I feel the weight of those words. They carry the story of countless nights cut short, of days that blur together in a haze of exhaustion, of a body and mind that have learned to run on fumes because they have to.
Functioning becomes its own kind of superpower when you’re this sleep-deprived. You develop an almost supernatural ability to change diapers with your eyes half-closed, to make breakfast while mentally still asleep, to have patience for small disasters when your own reserves feel completely empty. But functioning isn’t thriving, and your body knows the difference even when you’re pushing through.
After months of broken sleep, that exhaustion settles into your bones in a way that feels permanent. Your emotional bandwidth shrinks. Small frustrations feel enormous. Joy feels muted through the fog of fatigue. And yet you keep going, because that’s what parents do.
When Rest Looks Different
You can’t always get the sleep you need, not with two kids, not when sleep training isn’t working the way you hoped, not when love means answering every call. But you’ve discovered something beautiful in the midst of this struggle: rest doesn’t always mean sleep.
Lying on the floor while your children play around you, this simple act is profound. It’s you recognizing that your body needs something, even if it can’t be sleep in that moment. It’s you honoring your exhaustion without abandoning your responsibilities. It’s finding rest in the spaces between demands, even if those spaces are small.
These moments of horizontal rest, of letting your body sink into the floor while maintaining supervision, aren’t consolation prizes. They’re acts of self-preservation and wisdom. You’re taking what you can get, when you can get it, and that matters more than you know.
The Loneliness of Parental Exhaustion
There’s a particular loneliness that comes with this level of sleep deprivation as a parent. Friends offer advice about sleep training and schedules, not understanding that you’ve tried, that your second child is different, that love sometimes looks like sacrificing your own rest for theirs. The isolation of being the only one who responds to those nighttime calls, even when your partner is present, can feel overwhelming.
You’re carrying the mental and physical load of broken sleep, and sometimes it feels like you’re carrying it alone. The world expects you to function normally during the day, to be present and patient and capable, without acknowledging the Herculean effort it takes to do so on fractured sleep.
But you’re not alone in this struggle. There are countless parents lying on living room floors right now, finding rest where they can. There are mothers and fathers responding to nighttime calls with love-heavy hearts and exhausted bodies. This is hard, and it’s okay to say it’s hard.
Small Acts of Humanity
Those moments when you prioritize rest during the day, lying on the floor, closing your eyes for just a few minutes, letting your body be horizontal while staying present for your children, these aren’t signs of giving up. They’re signs of wisdom. They’re you recognizing your humanity in the midst of the impossible demands of parenting.
When sleep has been particularly brutal, and you can’t keep your eyes open but can’t actually sleep, these small concessions to your exhaustion can make you feel human again. They remind your nervous system that rest is still possible, even in five-minute increments on the living room floor.
These aren’t perfect solutions, but they’re real ones. They’re the kind of rest that fits into a life that doesn’t pause for your exhaustion, the kind of self-care that works when conventional self-care feels impossible.
Love Doesn’t Always Look Like Sacrifice
Right now, love looks like going to your child when they call, even when your body is screaming for sleep. But love also looks like lying on the floor when you need to rest. Love looks like acknowledging that this is hard without having to fix it immediately. Love looks like giving yourself credit for showing up in ways both big and small.
Your child needs you, yes. But they also need you to be human, to model that it’s okay to rest when you can, to show them that taking care of yourself is part of taking care of others. They need a parent who is present, not perfect, who is trying, not martyring themselves.
This Season Will Pass
I know that right now, months of sleep deprivation can feel like forever, and it’s hard to imagine a time when sleep will come easier. Every well-meaning person who says “this too shall pass” might make you want to scream, because right now you’re living in the middle of “this,” and it feels endless.
But seasons do change, often when we least expect them to. Your child will eventually sleep longer stretches, not because of anything you did or didn’t do, but because they will grow into it in their own time. Until then, you’re doing exactly what you need to do, responding with love, resting when you can, and acknowledging that this is hard.
You Are Not Alone
There’s something I need you to know: this is hard. Really, truly, deeply hard. The sleep deprivation, the constant availability, the way love sometimes feels like it’s costing you pieces of yourself, all of it is hard, and you don’t have to pretend otherwise.
You’re not failing because sleep training isn’t working. You’re not weak because you want to sleep through the night. You’re not selfish for lying on the floor when your body needs rest. You’re human, and you’re doing an impossible job with more love and dedication than your exhausted body should be able to muster.
Right now, somewhere, another parent is responding to a nighttime call on no sleep. Another mother is lying on her living room floor, eyes closed, while her children play nearby. You are part of a quiet army of exhausted mothers who keep going because love asks them to.
This is hard. You are not alone. And you are doing better than you think, even when * especially when * you can barely see straight from exhaustion.
Rest when you can. Answer when love calls. And know that both of these things are acts of profound courage.
The Balanced Mom
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