Maybe it’s just me, but my baby was never a good sleeper. From the moment he arrived, naps were a battle — if he napped at all, it was usually for twenty minutes, max. Nighttime wasn’t any better. He’d wake every other hour for a feed, and the second I tried to put him down, he’d cry unless he was in my arms or my husband’s.
So when people told me, with the best of intentions, “Just nap when your baby naps,” I wanted to laugh… or cry. Because honestly, how? How are you supposed to “nap when your baby naps” when the only break you get all day is those precious 20 minutes — if you’re lucky — and in that time, you’re staring at a mountain of laundry, a sink full of bottles, and a cold cup of coffee you’ve reheated three times? When the house feels like it’s caving in, your to-do list keeps growing, and you’re still wearing the same milk-stained T-shirt from yesterday?
Nobody tells you that sometimes, when the baby finally sleeps, you can’t. You lie there, completely exhausted but wired — because your mind is racing through everything you haven’t done, or you’re bracing for the next cry. Sometimes you just want ten quiet minutes to shower, scroll aimlessly on your phone, or feel like yourself again — and somehow, that tiny act of self-preservation feels like guilt.
I still get emotional thinking about how little sleep I got that first year. My body was heavy, my brain foggy— like I was walking through life half-awake, trying to hold everything together while slowly unraveling inside. Other parents would casually mention how their babies slept through the night from six weeks old, and I’d stare at them in disbelief — while silently thinking, nobody asked you, mate.
My baby wouldn’t sleep unless he was on my boob, and even then, putting him down meant instant crying. It was relentless. After a year of breastfeeding, my body felt wrecked, and even something as small as taking a five-minute shower without interruption felt like a luxury. Meanwhile, my husband carried on with his routine — gym, work, chatting with friends — completely unaware of the mental and physical marathon I was running every single day. When people (his friends) visited, he barely lifted a finger unless asked,and I was too tired to fight it. I loved him, but there were days I looked at him and thought, I can’t stand you right now. Even the weight of his body lying next to me in bed could irritate me beyond reason.
God, what a time that was.
Two years and nine months into life as a parent, here’s what I’ve learned looking back: it does get better. Slowly, quietly, and without you even noticing, your baby starts to sleep a little longer. You start to feel a bit more human. The fog lifts, the anger softens, and one day you’ll look at your baby — now a vibrant and tender-hearted toddler — and realize you survived something truly monumental.
Those early days aren’t just about sleepless nights. They’re about finding strength you didn’t know you had, about learning to let go of perfection, and about forgiving yourself for all the messy, human moments in between.
💛 A Few Tips I Wish Someone Told Me:
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Forget “nap when the baby naps.” Instead, rest however you can. Maybe that’s lying down with your eyes closed, scrolling in silence, or just breathing deeply for five minutes. Rest doesn’t always mean sleep.
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Lower the bar. The dishes can wait. The laundry can wait. You don’t need to do everything. If, like me, the thought of waking up to a messy kitchen makes your nerves fray, just tackle little bits throughout the day. Try not to do it all at once — every small step counts. I found that putting on my favourite show (Friends) or an oldie comfort movie (You've Got Mail) whilst folding laundry or washing dishes really helped.
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Ask for help early. You’re not failing — you’re being realistic. Let someone cook, clean, or hold the baby while you recharge. I used to hate the idea of anyone washing up in my sink or putting groceries away because they wouldn’t do it exactly how I wanted. But honestly? Just let it go — let them help you. It’s not about perfection, it’s about giving yourself a break.
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Accept help. When friends visit and ask if you need anything — say yes. If it’s a bottle of milk, a dairy milk bar, or a hot coffee, ask for it. And when they offer to tidy the kitchen, fold the laundry, or snuggle the baby so you can lie down for thirty minutes — accept it. You don’t have to do it all yourself. I wish I had accepted more of this kind of help. Remember, your friends also want to help you, that's why we have them in our circle.
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Find your people. Talk to other parents who get it. Even a few honest messages or a walk in the park can make you feel less alone. I’ve now met some wonderful friends since becoming a mum, and sharing our brutally honest stories with each other, from broken sleep to snapping at our husbands - is incredibly relieving. Motherhood isn’t quite as pretty as it seems, and we’re real about it, not trying to make it look glamorous or airbrushed on social media. It’s comforting to know we’re not alone in the chaos.
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Celebrate small wins. A shower, a hot meal, or five minutes of quiet — they all count. Sometimes, I would praise myself for the tiniest victories — like finally sending a voice note to a friend who had checked in days before, or managing to get a face mask on for twenty minutes once a week. Even making a cup of tea and drinking it while it was still hot felt like an achievement. These small wins, though seemingly insignificant to anyone else, were proof that I was surviving, that I was still me, and that even in the chaos, life was moving forward.
You’re doing so much more than you think you are. You’re surviving the impossible after growing a human inside you for nine months— and that alone is something to be proud of. One day, you’ll look back and see that this version of you — tired, emotional, stretched thin — was also the strongest one you’ve ever been. 💛