Radical Acceptance and Midnight Toddler Parties

A Love Letter to Every Sleepless, Searching Parent

They say parenting is a rollercoaster. They’re not wrong—but they forgot to mention it’s the kind with sudden drops, unexpected turns, and moments of such pure joy your breath catches in your throat.

My daughter will soon be two and a half years old. She’s healthy, neurotypical, bright-eyed and full of wonder. And still—her first two years of life have been a tapestry woven with exhaustion, worry, and endless love.

I often think: if this is what it looks like when everything is “technically fine,” what kind of quiet heroism is required from parents whose children face even greater challenges?

Let me take you back through three of our hardest parenting chapters—ones that taught me about growth, surrender, and something I now call “radical acceptance with curiosity.”

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1. The Slow and Wobbly Start

In her first year, my daughter hit her motor milestones—rolling, crawling, walking—just a little later than the charts said she should. She wasn’t alarmingly behind, but as a first-time mom navigating postpartum hormones and endless mommy forums, I was anything but calm.

Every missed milestone felt like a red flag. I googled. I questioned. I booked consultations. I panicked.

Of course, now she runs, jumps, and twirls like a woodland fairy—but back then, I didn’t have that hindsight. I just had the ache of uncertainty and the deep, gnawing fear that maybe I had done something wrong.

Cue the inner monologue of Marlin from Finding Nemo:
"I promised I’d never let anything happen to him... not much of a promise if you think about it."

We want to protect them from everything—but sometimes, growth just needs time.

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2. The Toddler Who Wouldn’t Eat

My daughter loved nursing. Loved it so much, in fact, that she wasn’t interested in eating anything else.

We tried fruits, vegetables, textures, temperatures, even lovingly Pinterest-worthy plates. Nothing worked.

At two years old, she still barely consumed anything measurable. People said: “She’ll eat when she’s hungry!” But what if she... doesn’t? What if I’m missing something crucial?

I remember watching the “perfect” toddlers around us devour entire bowls of pasta while mine turned away after two polite bites. I felt defeated. Not at her—but at my own helplessness.

It felt like a scene from Inside Out, where Joy tries to cheer things up but Sadness quietly sits down and whispers, “Crying helps me slow down and obsess over the weight of life’s problems.”

And yet, slowly but surely, she did start to eat. Just not on my timeline.

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3. The Great Sleep Saga

Sleep has been our Everest.

In her first few months, she never slept more than 2.5 hours in a row. Not once. Not even on “good” nights. Those early days people would ask how she was sleeping and I’d answer with false optimism:
“Pretty well! She wakes every two and a half hours.”

But that pattern lasted for 18+ months. Even now, at 2.5 years, she wakes at least twice a night. A busy day? Sensory overload? Forget it. It might take three hours of singing lullabies in a lavender-scented room to get her down.

And then comes the “baby rave” between midnight and 4 a.m.—complete with talking, bouncing, and requests for books.

I joke that she channels Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter: whimsical, mysterious, up all night with curious thoughts no one else quite understands.

But behind the joke was real, physical exhaustion. The kind that makes you cry while brushing your teeth because you just don’t know how you’ll make it through the day.

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And Then... Radical Acceptance

During those countless sleepless nights, I stumbled across the concept of radical acceptance—not in a parenting manual, but through my own quiet desperation.

Radical acceptance means meeting your child exactly where they are—emotionally, developmentally, behaviorally—without judgment, resistance, or the urge to "fix" them immediately.

It doesn’t mean giving up.
It doesn’t mean pretending things are easy.
It means whispering: “I see you. I hear you. I accept this moment as it is.”

But let me be clear: acceptance doesn’t mean inaction. As someone trained in special education, I know how vital it is to support our children intentionally—to give them every opportunity to grow, while still loving them exactly as they are.

To help myself think through these moments, I created a mental matrix.

On the Y-axis, there’s the mindset: from rejection to acceptance.
On the X-axis, there’s the response: from waiting to investigating.

This gives us four parenting postures. And to bring them to life, let’s visit some movie scenes you might recognize:

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1. 💢 Rejecting & Waiting

Dismissive denial.
"They’ll grow out of it. Don’t be dramatic."

🎬 Mr. Banks in Mary Poppins
He values routine, order, and appearances more than emotional connection. His children’s needs are dismissed as frivolous until a magical nanny floats in to help him see what really matters.
Quote: “I run my home precisely on schedule.”
He waits for things to work themselves out—without emotional engagement or understanding.

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2. 🔍 Rejecting & Investigating

Anxious control.
"Something’s wrong. I must fix this now!"

🎬 Aurora Greenway in Terms of Endearment
Aurora loves deeply, but often with judgment and fear. She scrutinizes her daughter’s life obsessively, trying to solve her emotional discomfort through control.
Quote: “Why should I be happy about being a grandmother?”
This is parenting with a magnifying glass—and a clenched jaw.

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3. 🌿 Accepting & Waiting

Calm observation.
"Every child blooms in their own season."

🎬 Marlin in Finding Nemo
Marlin accepts his son’s difference but is too afraid to let him take risks. His deep love makes him overly cautious, holding Nemo back in the name of protection.
Quote: “You think you can do these things, but you just can’t, Nemo!”
It’s loving—but frozen. A watchful heart with fearful hands.

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4. 💛 Accepting & Investigating

Compassionate curiosity.
"I love you as you are. Let’s explore how I can support you."

🎬 Guido in Life Is Beautiful
Even in a concentration camp, Guido creates a world of safety and imagination for his son. He doesn’t deny reality—he meets it with courage and creativity.
Quote: “This is a simple game. The first one to get 1,000 points wins a tank!”

🎬 Molly Weasley in Harry Potter
Fiercely loving, endlessly involved, Molly protects and empowers her children in equal measure.
Quote: “Not my daughter, you b***!”* (from Deathly Hallows)
She’s always ready—with a sweater, a spell, or a strong boundary.

This is the kind of parenting that says:

“I see you. I accept you. And I’ll do everything I can to understand what you need.”

And sometimes, that means seeking support—not because something’s wrong with our child, but because we love them enough to ask:

👉 Could a pediatrician, therapist, or special education expert help us see something we’re missing?
👉 Could a little attention, care, or early therapy make a meaningful difference down the line?

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just a phase.
But maybe—just maybe—there’s something there.
And it’s okay to be curious about it.
To ask. To learn. To act.

And through it all, let us not forget to love them with our whole hearts.

Because whether we’re waiting, investigating, holding, or healing—what they need most is our presence, our softness, and the deep, unwavering truth that:

“You don’t need to be perfect to be worthy of love.”

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In Praise of Our Children—Exactly As They Are

Despite the feeding troubles, sleep deprivation, and a few developmental quirks, my daughter has a heart of gold, a sparkling mind, and a tenderness that takes my breath away.

She is funny, sensitive, thoughtful, and full of soul.

When I hear other moms talk about their “easy sleepers” or “great eaters,” sure, I flinch a little. First in comparison. Then in self-blame.

But slowly, I remind myself: I wasn’t meant to raise someone else’s child. I was meant to raise her.

So I pour another cup of coffee. I hum another lullaby. I pretend carrot sticks are fairies in disguise. And I keep showing up with a heart wide open. Step in when needed.

Because no matter how long it takes for her to sleep through the night or finish a plate of pasta, she is exactly who she is meant to be.

And I want to be exactly the mother she needs.