“People with no kids say ‘Good night’. Maybe even ‘Sleep well.’ People with kids just say, ‘Good luck.'” —Michael McIntyre, Comedian

I ache with slight envy each night as I tuck my oldest children into bed. They’re bound for a solid ten hours’ Zs.

My husband and I have a beautiful, imperfect, somewhat-clockwork routine with these tots. 

The unwinding process begins early so they can hit their mandatory marks; brushing teeth, nighttime hugs-turned-tackling-and-arm-wrestling, and ultimately they’re eventually tuckered out and tucked in as we read bedtime stories via books, or narratives via improv chatter.

They like it best when my husband and I craft up fables on a whim. The tales often include Batman and Robin confronting bad guys out of a Super Mario Brothers game and locking them up in Willy Wonka’s factory forever.

Once they’re in bed – our boys, not the story villains – you can bet your bottom bunk we’ve built in time for guaranteed water requests and life philosophizing.

This is also time complete with precious moments in which our littles choose to detail their entire day, in response to questions we asked at the dinner table hours earlier.

And once they’re tucked snugly into their beds, that’s it.

The envy creeps in as I then turn to the clock, which reads somewhere within fifteen minutes’ vicinity of 7:30.

This is because I know my husband and I will be wide-eyed for for a few more hours with our youngest, long after the oldest of the crew are fast asleep, likely dreaming of Batman and Robin and

Willy Wonka’s factory. 

Zap, Pow, Bam, Zzzz.

My husband and I, on the other hand, don’t sleep much.

This being our third baby around, we know very well what we signed up for. Wakefulness is all part of parental territory. And some nights are better than others, we know this too.

But last Saturday night was one that made Cote family history as one of the longest.

In short, we had our vigilance game-face on the entire night due to a series of consecutive, ironic and perfectly-timed alternating events. A perfect storm of ripple-effect all-nighter madness. 

My AV husband might describe this as reverb.

And Saturday night was especially reverbacious. I just made that up.

When you’re sleep deprived, you make up words.

Our infant was going through some sort of combined teething and growth spurt cluster feed.

As soon as he settled, our oldest had a bad dream, which came through loud and clear on our baby monitor. Once he settled, the baby had woken again.

Once he settled, our middle decided he really needed water and was determinedly dehydrated in that moment.

I raced around tending to the older boys’ needs as my husband tended to the youngest. 

Even our dog awoke a time or two, whimpering, thus waking up the baby and starting the vicious cycle all over again.

I swear I get most FitBit steps between 11 p.m. – 6 a.m.

By 5:30 a.m., we were finally asleep. 

And as sure as the sun came up, so did we shortly afterward.

And this is why my husband and I wish each other ‘Good luck’ each night before we go to sleep.

We know what’s ahead. No rest for the wicked tired.

I often reflect on words our pediatric nurse said to me recently, in that parents somehow manage to be unbelievably resilient.

Despite seriously lacking essential sleep, we carry on. We get through our days.

We function, regardless of how little we’ve snoozed.

We rise, we pretend to shine, with the help of a hot shower followed by an even hotter cup of coffee.

I love coffee. 

With it, I can conquer the world. Or at the very least, pretend I’ve slept more than thirty minutes over the course of an entire evening. 

Last Sunday morning, my 6-year-old watched me pour myself a mug of joe.

He asked, “Is coffee healthy?”

I replied, “No, it’s necessary.”

Coffee helps us build our so-called resilience.

It allows my husband and I to muster the energy to high five each other in the zombie-haired nights and to utter a ‘We got this’ to one another.

Because when your sons aren’t down until after the sun is up, hot showers and hot coffees and a little bit o’luck helps build our resilience to spring forward.

So to all you sleepless parents, I bid you good night… and good luck.

— Michelle Cote is creative director of the Journal Tribune and a nationally-syndicated columnist. Rocking out to classics in her minivan with her husband and three sons is totally her jam. Contact her at [email protected].