A Love Letter to 3 AM Bathroom Trips

Middle-of-the-night bathroom breaks hit very differently when you’re a breastfeeding mom of a 3-month-old. The newborn trenches are no joke—I honestly feel like every time I said I was tired before motherhood doesn’t even touch this level of tired. If I had to pick an emoji to sum up the chaos? Definitely the melted face. Because honestly… the struggle is/was real.

Me trying to just do simple tasks

I was fortunate enough to stay with my stepfather when my living situation took an unexpected turn just one month postpartum. A blessing, truly—but one that came with a side of late-night madness.

Before motherhood, a 3 a.m. potty run was effortless. You’d just get up, shuffle to the bathroom, maybe grab a cold glass of water or a snack, and float back to bed like a queen.

Ahhh, the luxury.

A distant memory.

These days? Bathroom breaks feel like tactical missions. Especially during those early co-sleeping, breastfeeding months. I became a low-budget stuntwoman, trying to slide out of bed without waking my daughter—positioning pillows to mimic my body, creeping like I was avoiding laser beams in a spy movie, and praying to every maternal deity that the toilet flush wouldn’t ruin the peace.

Me on mission: Bathroom

That sacred fridge water I used to romanticize? Replaced with a lukewarm water bottle on the nightstand—because the distance from bed to kitchen, plus the fridge door noise, was a risk I was not willing to take. One wrong move and it goes from peaceful 3 a.m. baby to 5 a.m. baby-wide-awake, cooing like, “Good morning, mommy! Let’s party.”

And I think you know it in fact is not a party at all, it’s go home, and go to bed time!

When we moved into our new place, the floorboards joined the betrayal party—creaking like I was walking on a bag of chips. I learned the pattern: which boards were safe, which would betray me, and how to walk like a ninja on edge.

And sometimes? She just came with me. Because babies can be in deep sleep and still somehow sense the second you move a toe. That screech of “Where are you going, woman?!” hits fast. So there I was—half-asleep, trying to pee and wipe while holding a wiggly baby. A true circus act. Definitely not resume material, but a skill nonetheless.

There were moments when my stepdad, thankfully a night owl all on his own, would catch me mid-struggle and offer to hold her so I could pee in peace. A small gesture that felt like hitting the Mega Millions.

And yes—my fiancé was (and is) incredibly supportive. But sometimes I let him sleep, so he could take over the real early-morning shift, giving me a chance to nap later without having to contort myself around a baby like a Tetris piece.

To the parents of “happy spitters,” you know the drill: after each feeding, you sit them upright for 15–20 minutes—which feels like eternity when you’re running on 2–3 hour sleep stretches. It’s not the feeding at 3 a.m. that’s rough—it’s the staying awake after, when your body is begging for a reboot and your brain is buffering like an old dial-up connection, with the AIM thing running and freezing.

And to think—all this chaos, all this strategy, all this sweat—for the simple goal of just using the bathroom like a regular human being. Motherhood truly changes everything.

I knew that. But I didn’t know I’d be holding my bathroom breaks so dear so soon.

Still, I wouldn’t trade a single moment of it. Even the most chaotic nights, in hindsight, are filled with their own kind of magic. Now that I’m (mostly) out of the trenches and bathroom trips are calmer, I find myself a little nostalgic for those wild nights. No more sprinting from the toilet like it’s an Olympic event, trying to beat the baby’s internal alarm.

Can you relate? What was your most chaotic parenting moment that makes you laugh now? I’d love to hear your story—let’s normalize the not-so-glamorous side of motherhood.