I've been making the bed less

And I'm trying to be okay with it.

I’m on the couch with a can of Diet Dr. Pepper, my legs crossed and my eyes barely open. It’s 8:52 p.m. My husband is at a concert with a friend. I’m exhausted, and I want to do anything but write. (Honestly, The Pitt is calling my name.) It’s been a long day. The baby was up at 4 a.m., and my daughter woke up two hours later. Sometimes, it feels like someone is always crying — it’s just a question of whether it’s one of the kids or me. I could’ve climbed into bed at 9 a.m., but the show must go on. Lately, it feels like I’m so go-go-go during the day that I only have time for creative work after the kids go to bed, which isn’t exactly revelatory for a lot of you but has been difficult for me.

Life wasn’t always like this. A year and a half ago, I’d hit a stride. My daughter was three years old, mostly potty trained, and starting to show signs of independence. The all-consuming newborn days were far behind me. It felt easy to travel as a family of three. We were in a rhythm. But I felt a pull and started to picture our lives with another baby. We went for it, and I gave birth last August. Raising two kids has been the wildest, most rewarding experience of my life.

But I’ve been making the bed less.

The habit started a couple of years ago after I read an article about why you should make your bed regularly. I’m still skeptical of some of the purported benefits — does it really increase your daily productivity? — but I can’t deny that a clean room makes me feel less stressed. So I started waking up a few minutes before my daughter. Sometimes, I snuck it in while she ate breakfast. I’d walk by the bedroom and feel a sense of pride, like I’d finally found something I could stick with. I barely remember to journal. I bought a Peloton like everyone else in 2020, and it’s upstairs collecting dust. Spending a couple minutes a day fluffing up pillows and arranging an oversized blanket made me feel like I had it together, just a little bit, even when things weren’t actually going well. I vowed to continue. And for two years, I did.

Will I ever stop using this Jeb Bush gif? Only time will tell

Then came my son. During my maternity leave, I cleaned almost every day. He slept all the time, and I was bored without much else to do other than re-watch Derry Girls. I was proud of myself for keeping it up. Maybe another kid wouldn’t change things too much, I thought. But then I returned to work, and he started sleeping less, which meant that I started sleeping less, and things felt a lot less smooth. My precious morning routine was the first habit to go, and I felt horribly disappointed with myself.

To make it worse, I know people with a busier schedule and fewer resources who seem to do a better job than I do, and it’s embarrassing to me. My husband goes into the office three days a week, does all of the cooking, and still finds time to clean. When he’s home, he makes the bed. I also have a cleaning service that comes occasionally — I’m not doing this alone. Far from it. But the day-to-day is still challenging.

As I look around the house right now, I see toys everywhere — several of which are probably fall hazards. The sink is full of dirty bottles. My living room rug hasn’t seen a vacuum in a long time. And I feel guilty, like I need to find the energy to work well while parenting patiently, being present in my relationship, exercising, reading, writing, getting enough sleep, and attempting to spend time with friends. All while making sure my home looks pristine. It’s impossible.

I have to reckon with why this is so important to me. I don’t live in a museum. Why can’t it reflect the chaos of having an 8-month-old and a preschooler? We have storage bins all over the house, but lately, stuff is still everywhere. Breaking news: I sleep in my bed. My kids play with toys every day. Our kitchen isn’t only for aesthetics. Wild, I know! It’s okay if there’s proof that people live here. Life isn’t an IKEA showroom.

When this post arrives in your inbox, I’ll be on a flight without my kids. I almost shelved this essay because I worried it’d seem out of touch. Local woman grumbles while on solo vacation! The privilege of a supportive partner and family isn’t lost on me, but I don’t think it negates the reality that balancing it all can feel like a no-win game. This isn’t exclusive to raising kids, either. I hate when people say childfree folks don’t know what it’s like to *actually* be tired. Yes, I have less free time than I once did, and my caffeine intake has increased, but that doesn’t mean my fatigue is more legitimate than that of someone with a different life. You don’t need kids to make the bed less.