Em bé ơi,
It’s 11:37 p.m., and you’ve woken up needing to be nursed back to sleep three, maybe four times now. At one year old, you’re “supposed” to sleep through the night. But the truth is, I never gave you the chance to learn how. And I have no regrets.
The thought of “sleep training,” of letting you cry until you soothed yourself, wasn’t something I could realistically do. It wasn’t just about the sound of your cries. It was the thought of you lying there, alone in the dark, wondering if I was coming back. I was told it would help build your resilience, but deep down I knew it wasn’t the kind of strength I wanted for you. People tried to convince me that sleep training wouldn’t affect your psychology but I still couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Sometimes, I wonder if it’s because I’m just not as brave as other moms. Maybe I’m softer, weaker. Maybe I just can’t bear the heartbreak. But then I think of your tiny, trusting body curled against mine, and I realize that this softness is my strength. This is how I show you that I’ll always be here, no matter the hour or the exhaustion that weighs heavily behind my eyes.
So yes, at one year old, you still fall asleep in my arms on our floor mattress. You still cry when woken by teething pains, when your dreams take a wrong turn, or when the night simply feels too big. And every time, I hold you close and whisper, “You’re safe. I love you,” while nursing you back to safety.
I don’t know if this is the “right” way. I don’t know if it will make you stronger or more secure in the long run. But in these quiet, bleary-eyed moments, it feels right for us. And that has to be enough.
There are times I feel embarrassed when I admit to others, even your doctor, that we’re still bedsharing or that you’re not sleeping through the night. It’s hard not to compare, not to wonder if I’m doing it all wrong by following my instincts instead of the books. But with each passing night, those feelings fade. I’m learning to trust myself, and to trust you, too.
Who knows how long this season will last. Maybe one night, you’ll fall asleep on your own, and I’ll realize this closeness we share has given you exactly what you needed. Or maybe I’ll carry this memory forever: us against the stillness of the night, a love so fierce it makes the exhaustion melt away.
Sleep tight, baby. Whenever you wake, I’ll be right here.
Mẹ yêu em.
In 2023, after becoming pregnant with my daughter. I decided to wipe my Instagram clean and stepped away from the world. Now, as my daughter turns one, I feel ready to reengage. Follow me on Instagram as I rebuild my feed and my life.