Kids and sleep. What else can you say other than…it’s complicated.

There are the early days — those 2-to-3-hour chunks of sleep you get when they’re newborns. You’re basically running on caffeine, adrenaline, and whatever crumbs are left of your sanity. If you get four consecutive hours, you start to believe you could launch a start-up before lunch. Or at least remember where you put your keys.

Then comes sleep training. And by “training,” I mean everyone in the house crying for different reasons. You put them down, they cry. You pick them up, they cry. You cry. The dog cries. At some point, you start googling “Can babies sense desperation?” Spoiler: yes, they can.

Eventually, you transition them out of the crib into a big-kid bed, where they spend exactly one night sleeping like angels before realizing they can crawl out of it — repeatedly — like it’s a competitive sport. And you’re the coach, referee, and cheerleader, simultaneously.

Next thing you know, you’re “preventing” them from climbing into your bed by letting them sleep on the floor next to you. (A classic parenting loophole.) And if they do make it into your bed, you’re guaranteed a few toes in the ribs around 2 a.m. Because nothing says “parenthood” like being startled awake by a five-year-old’s foot to the spleen — while they’ve stolen the covers. Bonus points if they’re also cuddling the stuffed animal that covers half the bed.

Fast forward a few years, and I’m waking my daughter up for school. She looks so peaceful — snug as a bug in a rug. Except she’s not using a pillow. And half the time she sleeps sideways across her queen-size bed. (I feel sorry for her future husband. He has no idea what’s coming.)

Of course, she only sleeps in on school days. On weekends, she’s up at 6 a.m., bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, just to remind me that apparently no one in this house respects sleep schedules except her.

And I started wondering…when do they start sleeping like normal people?

Because I need a whole system just to get to sleep: one pillow that’s flat enough if I’m on my back, another fuller on the sides if I roll, one between my knees to keep my spine aligned, and a mattress topper because apparently our three-year-old bed is now “too firm” for my aging joints. Add a white noise machine, blackout curtains, magnesium, and a prayer — and I might make it through the night. Or at least survive until coffee o’clock.

I’d love to sleep on my stomach again, but that ship sailed sometime around my first pregnancy — and now it’s a one-way ticket to a neck spasm and an unplanned appointment with my chiropractor, Damien. We’ve become best friends. He knows my spine better than I do.

But here’s the kicker: by the time they finally start sleeping through the night… I don’t.

Now I wake up at 2:43 a.m. for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Wide awake for hours, thanks to the gift that is perimenopause. No crying babies, no feet in my ribs — just me, staring at the ceiling, wondering why my body temperature suddenly matches the surface of the sun and whether we have enough milk for breakfast. 

The irony? I used to dream of this stage — when everyone could just sleep. Turns out, parenthood’s final sleep stage isn’t about them at all. It’s about realizing your body didn’t get the memo.

So yes, kids and sleep. It’s complicated. And apparently, it never really stops being that way.

So tell me — what season of sleep are you in right now?
(And if it involves a kid, a pet, or a hot flash… you’re definitely in good company.)