The Night Shift Dad – A Love Story in Yawns and White Noise

They were right.

Since my wife had an emergency C-section delivering our son, Elio, I’ve been on night duty. Not because I’m some selfless hero, but because, honestly, I don’t know what else to do. She needs rest. Real rest. The kind that doesn’t get interrupted by baby grunts, diaper alarms, or a partner saying, “Where’s the burp cloth again?”

So I took the night shift.

And by “night shift,” I mean this:

• Bassinet in the living room.

• Couch converted into my temporary home.

• White noise machine humming like it’s hiding state secrets.

• Me, shuffling through the hours like a sleep-deprived but determined security guard at BabyCorp™.

I call it “Operation: Let April Sleep.”

The Couch Chronicles

We rent a one-bedroom apartment here in Kamloops. Not much space, but we make it work. April has the bedroom to herself to heal and recover in peace. I occupy the living room battlefield, tiptoeing around shadows and trying not to make the kettle click too loudly when I prep my fourth decaf tea at 3:17 AM.

At first, I thought: “How hard can this be?”

Then I lived through the following moments:

Stillness Doesn’t Mean Uselessness

The hardest part? It’s not the sleep.

It’s the feeling of doing nothing. Of being in motion but going nowhere.

I’ve always been wired to be productive. Check things off. Grow. Build. Move forward.

But now, my biggest achievement some nights is that Elio only woke up three times instead of six.

I try to sneak in some writing while he sleeps. Maybe review a photo or two from my dusty hard drive. But mostly, I just…exist.

In the dim light. On standby.

Present. Awake.

Waiting.

And that’s a strange place for a man who’s always trying to be ten steps ahead.

But Then Morning Comes…

And I should go to sleep. I should.

But my wife walks out of the bedroom, hair a mess, eyes soft with thanks, and my son stretches his arms like a tiny prize fighter.

And I want to be there. Still.

I want to hear my wife laugh. I want to see Elio smile in the daylight.

So I push my exhaustion into the corners of the day, convincing myself, “I’ll nap later.”

Later doesn’t come. But joy does. And that’s enough to get me through.

Conclusion: It’s Not Glamorous, But It’s Ours

This phase of life is messy, cramped, and sleepless.

But it’s ours.

My couch is lumpy. The bassinet squeaks. My back hurts. But when I look at my family – sleeping peacefully behind that closed bedroom door – I know that I’ve never been more useful in my life.

“This isn’t the life I had planned. It’s louder, messier, and completely off-script – but it’s the most meaningful thing I’ve ever stayed up for.”