Yes, they’re still waking: motherhood and sleep deprivation

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It’s the dreaded question; how are they sleeping? Part of me still winces inside when I hear it. Since becoming a mother almost six years ago, I don’t think anything has dominated my waking thoughts as much as this one single topic – sleep.

I must have spent hours working out how long they’ve slept, how long I’ve slept, their wake window, their sleep cues, what overstimulates them, what settles them, their sleep habits, my sleep hygiene. Sleep, sleep, sleep. I’ve spent money on sleep books, sleep aids, sleep apps, sleep consultants. At times, I’ve had days where I have felt absolutely consumed by thoughts of sleep. 

Nothing could have prepared me for it; the complete loss of control over such a large portion of my life, and the incessant feeling of pressure to “get it right” with my children’s sleep.

For me, sleep deprivation has been the most challenging aspect of mothering, because it has pushed me to my limit.

Sleep deprivation has a knock-on effect on every other aspect of life, with emerging research showing its profound impact on physical and mental health. And yet, once the baby is out of babyhood, there is so little social support for those parenting on months and years of broken sleep.  

What I found comforting in the early days, the first weeks and months post-partum, was the sense of being “in it together” with other mums who had new babies. I had a small group of friends, post-partum with my first, who I knew I could text at one, two, three AM, and most-likely, one of them would be awake too. That sense of loneliness in the small hours was appeased by connecting with other new parents also awake, nursing, rocking, shushing, comforting their babies. 

I found myself surrounded by messages about what my baby “should” be doing, none of which were consistent.

I was used to having control over my time, and I was used to being able to apply research to find solutions to problems. But with my babies’ sleep, I was overwhelmed with different explanations of what might be happening, and different possible solutions.

Might she have silent reflux, sleep apnea, an allergy? Perhaps her wake windows were too long, she was over-tired, or were they too short, and she wasn’t tired enough? Perhaps she wasn’t getting enough milk, or she was getting too much milk? Did she have trapped wind, constipation, an illness coming? Perhaps she was overstimulated, her brain was in a developmental leap, or she was having a growth spurt? 

Often, just when I thought I had worked out which one of these many possible problems was the one my baby faced, everything changed again. She suddenly slept for five or six hours, napped for two; for a week I thought we’d cracked it. Then just like that, we were back to waking every two to three hours like a newborn. These phases came and went, and little by little, I relinquished my attempts to control them. Eventually, she reached that golden milestone, the one I had been chasing for months; sleeping through. What a magical, mythical term that would become to me. I enjoyed a year of better sleep with number one, before my more wakeful child arrived. 

With my second daughter, I tried to accept that I had very little control over what would happen. She fell asleep when she was ready to, and that happened on the go as we went about our day. She cat napped at the breast or in the car on the nursery school run. We naturally fell into our own loose routine, but each time it settled, it didn’t last long before she grew and changed, and so did her sleep.

But this time, babyhood came and went, and my chronic sleep deprivation grew more protracted. We passed the year mark, still waking frequently.

We weaned off milk and we entered toddlerhood, still waking frequently. We passed two years, still waking frequently. I had periods where I felt I might lose my mind, desperate for more than a few hours of sleep at a time.

We had advice from a sleep expert, it made little difference. We cut the nap, re-introduced the nap, cut the nap again, it made little difference. We addressed several health issues, it made a little difference, for a while, until it didn’t.

Recently, I’ve realised that it’s gotten easier, although her wakefulness remains. As I head towards three and a half years of wakeful nights, the thing that has saved me? Making peace with having a wakeful child. Accepting her as she is, as a child who has lower sleep needs than those dictated by research and baby books, a child who still needs a little more support and comfort through the night. Accepting that it isn’t my fault, being kind to myself on the days I feel broken with exhaustion, knowing that I haven’t failed her in some way, that I am not doing something wrong, has been the kindest thing I have done to support myself. 

If I could say anything to the mother I was five years ago, I would say this. Don’t listen to all that noise in the background, the voices of social expectation that creep in and tell you that you’re not getting it right. If your baby is wakeful, you did nothing wrong. It is gruellingly hard, and can feel very lonely, but you aren’t alone. And one day, you’ll sleep again.