There were so many times I wished there was a manual for raising children. Sometimes because I wasn’t sure how to respond to a situation, and other times because the situation was so weird I wondered if my kids were even “normal.”
But in the past few years, I’ve realized why there is no manual for raising kids — no one would voluntarily have children if they knew how weird it really was before getting pregnant.
One of those weird things is sleep.
I always thought it was strange how often strangers asked if the baby was a good sleeper. Even weirder, people (mostly older women) asked, “Is she a good baby?”
Translation: Does she sleep through the night?
Mae was a “good baby.” She was a pretty good sleeper. As an infant, she slept through the night by six months. She took naps as a toddler. She slept normal hours. Aw, what a good baby! Right?
I was pretty sure I was the baby whisperer—the magical parent with the perfect touch to get a kid to sleep.
Ha. That was definitely not true.
Nick was, um… a terrible sleeper. Does that make him a “bad baby”? And what would people have said if I’d answered honestly and said, “No, he’s not a good baby,” or even, “OMG, he’s a terrible baby!”
(I joke about it, but I never saw either of my kids as a “bad baby.” Not even the one who cried nearly nonstop for six months. I’m looking at you, Nick.)
For almost five years, Nick’s nightly schedule looked something like this: asleep from 9 p.m. to midnight, up for a few hours to watch Thomas the Train, then back to bed around 3 a.m.—only to wake up again by 6.
This sleep pattern started when he was about 18 months old and continued until he was six and a half.
You read that right.
Six. And. A. Half. Years. Old.
Six. And. A. Half. Sigh.
And when he was up at 6 a.m., he was up. Occasionally, he’d fall asleep in the car or take a quick five-minute nap, but that was about it. And if he did catch a quick nap in the car, he was instantly re-energized — which meant he wasn’t going to sleep anytime before midnight.
I can’t tell you how many rides home Mae and I spent trying to keep the little insomniac awake.
We tried everything to keep him in bed, to help him sleep, to change the pattern. Nothing worked.
People would ask, “Have you told him he has to stay in bed and go back to sleep?”
Um, what? Great idea—why didn’t we think of that? Genius.
Ridiculous.
Another one of those things no one tells you about parenting is the growth.
Obviously, I knew kids grow. The well-child checkups and the pants that suddenly become too short are regular reminders. But kids grow slowly, and life gets busy, and somehow you don’t notice how much they’ve changed.
For twelve, thirteen, fourteen years, you’re looking down at this child—and then one day, you’re eye to eye.
It’s a strange moment. Not happy, not sad—just one of those quiet pauses where you think, Wow. When did this happen?
There are so many “When did this happen?” moments in parenting (I wrote about a few of them in an earlier post, “Parenting Is Weird, But We’ve Got This.”)
Some are expected—like the first day of middle school or the day they get their learner’s permit. Others sneak up quietly.
The last time you brushed your daughter’s hair.
The last bath you helped with.
The last bedtime story they actually wanted you to read.
The last time they wanted you to go to the mall with them.
There’s no disclaimer, no flashing sign that says, This is the last time you’ll shampoo their hair. Those moments just… stop.
One day, you’ll catch yourself wondering, When was the last time I washed her hair?
And you’ll realize—it’s been months. Months since they needed your help.
Then there are the big surprises… really big, like your kid-getting-married big.
Which Mae did a few years ago. It wasn’t unexpected—they were engaged for over a year—but what was unexpected was the moment I introduced her husband as my son-in-law. It was one of the weirdest moments so far.
Another weird one: the realization that all your kids can drink legally. A few months ago, we went out to dinner at Red Robin. The hostess sat us in the bar area. I realized, for the first time, that all my kids were 21 or older and everyone at our table could legally drink. Crazy, right?
It was a strange sort of confirmation that my kids aren’t babies anymore.
People always tell new parents, Enjoy it—they grow up so fast.
And it’s so true. The years of parenting fly by.
One day you’re changing diapers and the next the kid is starting high school.
You get caught up in the day-to-day routines. You find yourself so busy driving this kid to soccer practice and that kid to drum lessons. The crazy takes over most moments of your life.
And then something—like being eye to eye with your kid—makes you pause and see how much time has flown by. You promise to slow down and enjoy the moments, but soon you’re once again caught in the insanity we call parenting.
Despite the fact that Mae is 26, I don’t feel like I have 26 years of memories. I remember the big moments: first steps, starting kindergarten, first instrument, the first time they cut their own hair, the first time they stayed home alone, the first cellphone… and so on.
But I also have “umbrella” memories of other things—like Mae playing soccer or when Nick took drum lessons. I might remember one or two specific moments, but I don’t remember every practice, game, or lesson.
I do remember sitting on the sidelines watching Mae’s games and being cold. Fall soccer in New England is not a warm spectator sport.
And I definitely remember Nick’s lessons. You don’t forget the hours spent sitting in a hallway listening to overlapping tunes from eight different lessons going on simultaneously.
But I can’t give specific details about most of those experiences.
I know many parents look at their adult kids and feel sad that they’re no longer little.
For me, I’ve genuinely enjoyed every stage of my kids’ lives—though I’ll admit, there were a few where I had to look really, really hard (and in those teen years, even harder) to find the enjoyable parts. Looking back, I have memories of spending time with the kids and laughing, going on adventures (Mae called any road trip an “adventure”). We had plenty of good times and, as there always are, times that weren’t as good and times where we struggled.
Thankfully, I think the good times outweighed the bad.
If you want my advice (and considering my vast parenting knowledge, I know you do), hang on and enjoy the experience. Celebrate the small moments as much as the big ones.
And when you can, choose to laugh instead of getting mad or crying.
Parenting is a crazy ride — it’s chaos, comedy, and love, usually all before breakfast. And somehow, we make it work… well, most of the time.
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Brain Fog & Brilliance 
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