32# Timezone Baby

Nobody prepared me for the fact that motherhood is like permanent jet lag, only without the beautiful destination waiting on the other side of the world. Instead, every morning (and several times in the middle of the night), I land in a parallel universe of nappies, the smell of milk and dummies.

Time Loses All Meaning. There's Only "Before the Last Feed" and "After the Next Nappy Change".

My body no longer knows whether it should sleep, eat or simply exist for a moment. Because then there are those long nights. Three in the morning, everything is quiet. I've been rocking the baby for an hour, the world outside is asleep, the baby seems to have fallen asleep again, I put the baby down, and just as I'm finally about to stretch out myself, all it takes is the tiniest sound from the baby – a sneeze, a little smacking noise, an almost inaudible "Mmm".

Immediately, my brain switches into crisis mode. Safety comes first, after all, and every sound is a potential emergency. Ironically, I then remain wide awake, listening to every breath, while the baby continues dreaming peacefully, as though completely unaware of the seriousness of the situation.

At four in the morning, while the baby sleeps blissfully and the world outside slowly thaws out of REM sleep, it feels like being on another continent, where the time zone runs according to sleep cycles and I'm constantly jet-lagged without earning a single air mile.

But then it happens, that biochemical miracle that allows us mothers to survive: oxytocin. Nature's tiny, invisible comfort blanket, working its magic somewhere between milk stains and exhaustion. Suddenly, a warm, gentle happiness washes over me, making me believe that everything is exactly as it should be. Sleep deprivation or not.

A Kind of Joke Played by Nature: Exhausted, Dishevelled, Emotionally at the Limit, Yet Strangely Blissful.

Early morning. Barely slept. Coffee is out of the question anyway because of all that caffeine. Another alarm! The baby has lost the dummy. I only wanted to go to the loo for a minute! So I rush back into the room. Dummy back in, baby happily asleep again.

Mission "Dummy" Successfully Accomplished!

Meanwhile, the high-tech household is running at full speed: the washing machine is drumming away as though competing for an Olympic gold medal, and the dishwasher is heroically scaling the heights of Mount Everest's mountain of dirty dishes.

Ironing? Goodbye! I hardly need any clothes anyway. Going out … where exactly? I only commute between the changing table, the baby's cot and the monthly baby check-ups.

The delivery service brings food, drinks – and hopefully, one day, my motivation to put on makeup again. In the world of online shopping, I search for the cutest outfits – naturally, all for the baby – while secretly dreaming that one day the robot will not only vacuum the floor but also brush my hair.

Welcome to the High-Tech Jungle of Motherhood.

Midday: The day has finally developed something resembling a rhythm – well, theoretically. There I stand, half human, half milk machine, with a baby in my arms and the rest of my personality somewhere between the nappy supplies and the baby's designer wardrobe.

And yet everything keeps running because it has to. Motherhood isn't a wellness retreat; it's an organisational marathon with a heart. You juggle responsibility, sleep deprivation and feeding times as though you've never done anything else.

You Become the Manager of a Miniature Human.

It doesn't matter what you look like. It doesn't matter how much you've slept (spoiler: not enough). You care, feed, comfort, change nappies – and you do it gladly.

Even when things get stressful, they're never so stressful that you want to give up. Quite the opposite: The more you give, the more you want to give. It's this absurd, superhuman love that drives you to keep going, even when you could have fallen asleep standing up ages ago.

And at some point – somewhere between breastfeeding, changing nappies and the next mirage of a cup of coffee – I realise: I don't actually need to arrive anywhere. I'm already in the most beautiful place in the world, with my child.

Physically, at least.

My brain is probably still stuck somewhere between two sleep cycles, desperately searching for a connecting flight to dreamland.

But hey, real motherhood isn't a holiday. It's an adventure lived with responsibility, love and creative crisis management – sleep-deprived, dishevelled and happy all the same.

Anastasia Weimer