By Sleep regression. The words don't do it justice. What happened is: Brayden, who had been sleeping in three-hour stretches like a reasonable human being, decided at seven weeks that sleep is for quitters and waking up every forty-five minutes is the correct lifestyle. For five nights straight, I was up every forty-five minutes, nursing, rocking, shushing, negotiating with a seven-week-old who has no concept of negotiation or time or the fact that his mother is losing her mind.
Dustin took the 2 AM shift. He walked circles around the apartment with Brayden on his shoulder, humming (still off-key, still beautiful), while I slept for two blessed, uninterrupted hours. Those two hours were the most luxurious thing I've experienced since a hotel room I've never stayed in. Sleep is currency now. Time is currency. Attention is currency. And the exchange rate is brutal.
I didn't cook three nights this week. Three nights. The woman who hasn't missed a home-cooked dinner since she was fourteen years old standing at Mama's stove — that woman ate cereal for dinner. Twice. And a peanut butter sandwich once. I felt guilty. Then I felt angry at the guilt. A mother eating cereal because she's too tired to cook is not a failure. A mother keeping a tiny human alive on forty-five-minute sleep cycles is not a failure. A mother whose freezer ran out of casseroles is not a failure. She's a mother. Just a mother. And "just a mother" is the hardest job I've ever had, and I've had jobs that involved roller skates and plastic dog food containers.
Blog post: nothing. Radio silence. The blog went dark for a week. Some followers sent concerned DMs. I replied to three of them: "Baby doesn't sleep. I'm alive. More posts when my brain works again." They understood. They always understand. Because ten thousand of them have been here — right here, on this couch, at 3 AM, eating cereal, wondering if the baby will ever sleep. He will. He has to. The alternative is not something I'm willing to consider at 3 AM with a bowl of Cheerios and a baby on my chest.
Cereal for dinner isn’t a failure—but after that fifth night of forty-five-minute wake cycles, I decided if I was going to eat from a bowl at 3 AM, I was going to make it something that actually felt like I was taking care of myself. This Best Toasted Oatmeal is what I’ve been keeping in rotation ever since: it’s warm, it’s a step above survival mode, and you can make it one-handed with a baby on your chest. It’s the bowl I wish I’d had those five dark nights, and now I keep the pantry stocked for whenever the next regression hits.
Best Toasted Oatmeal
Prep Time: 2 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 12 min | Servings: 2
Ingredients
- 1 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
- 1 tablespoon unsalted butter
- 2 cups water (or milk for creamier oatmeal)
- 1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
- 2 tablespoons brown sugar or maple syrup, to taste
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 1/4 cup milk or cream, for serving
- Optional toppings: sliced banana, a handful of berries, a spoonful of peanut butter, or a drizzle of honey
Instructions
- Toast the oats. Melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the rolled oats and stir to coat. Cook, stirring frequently, for 3—4 minutes until the oats smell nutty and turn a light golden color. Don’t walk away—they go from toasted to burnt quickly.
- Add the liquid. Carefully pour in the water (or milk). It will sputter. Stir in the salt and cinnamon. Raise heat to medium-high and bring to a gentle boil.
- Simmer until creamy. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5—6 minutes until the oats have absorbed most of the liquid and reached your preferred consistency. Thicker or looser—both are correct.
- Sweeten and serve. Stir in brown sugar or maple syrup. Spoon into bowls, splash with a little milk or cream, and add any toppings you’ve got energy for. Eat while warm. Eat while sitting, if possible.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 230 | Protein: 6g | Fat: 8g | Carbs: 34g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 160mg