The Night I Lost My Patience

Motherhood

Jul 7

Hey mama,

We’re in the thick of the 18-month sleep regression over here—and it’s been rough. Dimitri has been sleeping through the night since October, and aside from the occasional tough night here or there, we’ve been lucky. I’ve been grateful for the consistency, especially being pregnant and needing all the rest I can get.

But this past week? It’s like we hit a wall. Every night has been a full-on battle at bedtime. He screams the second I put him in his crib. I go in, rock him, reassure him, sometimes even let him fall asleep in my arms—but the second I lay him down, he loses it. He squirms out of my arms when I try to hold him. He doesn’t want to be rocked. He doesn’t want to be in his room. He tells me he’s hungry (he’s not). He just wants to hang out in the kitchen.
And last night broke me.

I had just gotten home from a 24-hour travel day, took a red-eye, was completely exhausted, pregnant, and running on fumes. I tried everything—his room, my room, cuddling, singing, you name it. Nothing worked. He kept climbing out of bed asking to eat, just to avoid sleep. And for the first time since becoming a mom, I felt mad. Like truly, genuinely mad at him.

Not frustrated. Not overwhelmed. Just… angry.

I didn’t scream or lose it or anything like that, but I raised my voice. I said, “What do you want? I don’t know what you want!” It was midnight. I was at my breaking point.

I ended up putting him in his high chair and made him something to eat, even though I knew he wasn’t really hungry. And he sat there so quietly, sipping from his little Baby Shark cup. He looked at me with those big, sad eyes like he knew I was mad. And my heart shattered.

Eventually, I caught my breath and sat with him. I pointed to the shark on his cup and asked what color it was. “Pink!” he said, lighting up, like, okay, she’s not mad at me anymore. And that moment just gutted me.

Because the guilt came crashing in.

I know he’s not doing this on purpose. He’s not trying to manipulate me or be “bad.” He’s 19 months old, and his brain is growing at lightning speed. He’s learning so much every day. He’s overstimulated. He’s overtired. And I know that. But it doesn’t mean I don’t feel awful for feeling what I felt.

Motherhood brings out all kinds of things you never knew you could feel. And honestly, I didn’t think I was capable of being mad at him. I thought I’d always have endless patience, but I’m human. I’m pregnant. I’m exhausted. And it was just a lot.

I debated even writing this, because I think so much of motherhood online is polished and curated and sentimental and sweet. But this is real. This is what it looks like sometimes. And I don’t think we talk about it enough.

So this is me, being honest: I got mad at my toddler last night. I felt guilty. I felt like shit. But today is a new day. And kids are resilient. And we’re both going to mess up sometimes. That doesn’t make me a bad mom. It just makes me a real one.

If you’ve ever been here too—or if you ever find yourself in this place—please know you’re not alone. You’re not a monster. You’re just a mom doing her best.

We’re all figuring it out as we go.

xx,