It had been a long day. One of those days where you’re already mentally counting down to bedtime before dinner is even over. We were finishing up eating when I got the text: my husband had to work late. That meant bedtime was on me. Alone.

My first thought wasn’t calm or gracious or understanding. It was immediate and heavy: How am I going to get through this? Then: I can’t believe I have to do it by myself tonight. And honestly? It showed.

Bedtime didn’t go well. Both girls were crying. The energy felt off from the start. Everything felt harder than it needed to be, and by the time I finally made it downstairs, I felt like I had barely made it out alive. I sat on the couch, took a few deep breaths, and let the silence settle. That’s when the uncomfortable thought crept in. Did I cause that?

We all know our kids feed off our energy, but knowing it and seeing it play out are two different things. I had gone into the night already defeated, already annoyed, already thinking about how hard it was going to be — and unsurprisingly, that’s exactly how it felt. But what hit me even harder was this:

I didn’t just make bedtime harder. I missed it.

I missed a chance to be present.
I missed a chance to make a memory.
I missed something I once dreamed of having.

Reflection

There was a time when bedtime snuggles with my children felt so far away — something I longed for. And now here I was, wishing it away because I was tired and overwhelmed. Yes, tiredness and frustration are real. Completely valid. This isn’t about pretending motherhood is easy or romanticizing exhaustion. But it is about noticing how often our language — especially the quiet, internal kind — shapes our experience.

“I have to do bedtime alone.”
“I have to get through this.”
“I have to deal with this right now.”

The words “have to” carry weight. Pressure. Resistance. That’s when it clicked for me. What if I stopped seeing bedtime as something happening to me… and started seeing it as something I get to experience. Even when it’s hard. Even when I’m tired. Even when it doesn’t go perfectly.

I realized we only get so many bedtimes when our children want us to sing. Where they want us to cuddle. Where they want us right there beside them. I’m already seeing that shift with my oldest — she doesn’t ask for songs anymore. That chapter is closing, whether I’m ready or not. Why rush through something that won’t always be here?

The next night I was on my own again, I tried something different. From the moment I knew it would be just me, I intentionally changed my mindset. Not in a forced, fake-positive way — but in a conscious one. Instead of “I have to do bedtime by myself,” I told myself: “I get to create our own girls night bedtime routine.”

We took turns brushing teeth.
We brushed hair together.
We put on pajamas slowly, without rushing.

There was a silent rhythm to all of it. I felt it, and I know my girls did too. My oldest loved helping me get our baby all ready. Then, instead of splitting them up, I brought both girls into my bed. We read two books. We snuggled. They laughed. They felt close to each other — and to me. And something unexpected happened. I enjoyed it. I mean, really enjoyed it — from start to finish. For the first time in a while, bedtime didn’t feel like something to survive. It felt like something to be in. I didn’t feel the same stress, because I hadn’t wrapped the night in negativity before it even began.

What stayed with me

That small mental shift from have to → get to, changed more than bedtime. It changed the tone of the entire evening. When hard moments came, I didn’t spiral as quickly. I saw them as challenges instead of burdens. Opportunities to stay calm. Opportunities to show up differently. Opportunities to model the kind of patience and presence I hope my daughters carry with them one day. This mindset shift doesn’t just apply to bedtime. Since that night, I’ve been using it in all aspects of our day. I get to experience this life with my girls. I get to show them the magic of every day. The beauty in life. The happiness they instill in me.

Motherhood gives us so many moments we once dreamed of — and then quietly tempts us to rush through them when they become routine. This isn’t about guilt. It’s about awareness. There was a time I wished for bedtime snuggles with my children. So I’m trying, as often as I can, not to wish them away now. Because even when it’s hard — especially when it’s hard — it’s still something I get to do.