Bedtime in our house has always been a journey—sometimes sweet, often challenging, and lately, more emotional than ever. As a parent of three, I’ve found myself pulled in different directions, wishing I could be everywhere at once to comfort each of my children through their nighttime fears and worries. Over the years, we’ve tried every gentle approach, rearranged sleeping spaces, and navigated endless tears and reassurances. Still, there are nights when it feels impossible to make everyone feel equally loved and secure.
I wrote the poem below in a rare moment of quiet, thinking all three of my kids had finally drifted off to sleep. But as I type this, my oldest has just cried out again—reminding me that bedtime is rarely as simple as it seems. Now I’m checking on her every five minutes, caught between wanting to comfort her and desperately needing rest myself. Parenting at night can feel like an endless cycle of worry, reassurance, and exhaustion.
This poem is my attempt to capture the heartbreak and hope of those moments—the longing to be enough for each of my kids, even when I can’t physically be by their side. If you’ve ever felt torn between your children at bedtime, I hope these words remind you that you’re not alone.
Splitting in Three
My worst nightmare, not monsters or shadows,
But the sound of three hearts calling for me—
Each one, my world, needing comfort at night,
And I, just one mother, unable to split into three.
My boy, the easy sleeper, once drifted with ease,
While my girls clung to me, needing presence to dream.
I tried gentle distance, reading outside their doors,
But the maze of our house left me restless, unsure.
I slept near them all, not wanting to choose,
Hoping my nearness would quiet their blues.
Bunk beds brought sharing, a sisterly pair—
But then my son needed me, alone in his lair.
Now, my eldest, eight years, with tears like a storm,
Cries out in the darkness, afraid and forlorn.
She says it’s not jealousy, but I see the ache—
A longing for comfort, a heart that might break.
She seeks out her father, disrupting our peace,
While my youngest, now worried, cries for her piece.
How can I show them, each night and each day,
That I love them all equally, in every way?
Tonight, I insisted: their beds, their own space,
Expecting the tears, the longing, the chase.
I told them I’m near, just a whisper away—
But the ache in my chest will not fade away.
I wish I could split into three, just for them,
To hold every hand, to calm every whim.
But I am just one, with love deep and wide,
Hoping they feel it, though I can’t always be by their side.
So I sit in the silence, as finally they sleep,
And pray that they know, in dreams dark and deep—
That my love is unbroken, though my arms can’t reach all,
I’m always their mother, just a call down the hall.
Gentle Parent 