Six months postpartum, I collapsed on the floor after work, exhausted from eczema-driven nighttime wake-ups and the thought of another day. After third-degree tearing, iron infusions, and mood struggles, I was running on empty.
As my son’s first birthday neared, nights slowly improved, but daytime exhaustion ramped up as his mobility increased. My husband and I had hit a wall.
Needing a reset and for our new son to meet the family, we booked a two-month trip to India.
We had family support
Two layovers and three flights later, we touched down in Bagdogra in the Himalayan foothills. Stepping from sterile airport air into thick humidity, we were greeted by a dozen family members offering namastes and Himalayan khada scarves.
Steaming dal bhat awaited us at the family home — the copper-plated home-cooked meal felt indulgent. Kichari was ready for our son, whose grandmother spooned it in his reluctant mouth, leaving my husband and me to eat in peace — another luxury.
After a year of sprinting, we finally caught our breath.
The journey was grueling: over 24 hours of travel and a 12-hour time change. In India, we traversed 6,000 feet of elevation, enduring both heat and cold, and all three of us got sick.
But throughout the challenges, we had a community backing us. My father-in-law rose at dawn to buy fresh vegetables for a healing soup. When our son threw up at midnight, his grandmother helped change the sheets.
My parenting softened in India
I observed parenting practices in our family: breastfeeding through toddlerhood, frequent babywearing, and long-term bedsharing on firm floor mattresses.
Watching our son play in a village kitchen with dal bhat cooking on a wood fire nearby, I marveled at our relatives’ patience. When he toppled a shoe rack for the third time in five minutes, our uncle turned it into a game while my mother-in-law smiled, unfazed.
Courtesy of the author
With others watchful of his safety, I leaned back with tea and let myself enjoy the moment.
In the US, my parenting resource was the internet. Late-night searches insisted my son should sleep from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. with two daytime naps. In India, a community of elders provided guidance. They encouraged me to trust my instincts and follow my son’s cues, not the clock.
This was daunting at first — one day he took three short naps, then skipped the nap entirely the next morning in the excitement of taking an auto rickshaw to a cousin’s for brunch.
One evening, as we took aunts and uncles out to a restaurant, we had just sat down when our son yawned and rubbed his eyes. With rocking and humming, he soon fell asleep on the padded bench despite the chatter of conversation.
The next evening, I rocked until my stomach grumbled and my shoulders ached, but he wouldn’t settle. I gave in and let him play with pots and pans with his cousins for an hour while I ate dinner. My tension eased, he was happy, and he later drifted off easily on his own timeline. Sometimes, the best sleep trick is to stop trying so hard.
Though it wasn’t always so simple — and I still couldn’t let go of tracking sleep hours — local tips boosted my intuition and showed me we were more adaptable than I’d realized.
He had less toys, but more people to play with
In the US, we had piles of toys. They were a survival mechanism — a toy airplane might buy me 10 minutes to finish dinner; a stacking toy might allow me to drink coffee while it’s hot.
In India, the dynamic shifted: relatives’ homes had few toys but many playmates. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins — there was always an ongoing game of peekaboo or hide-and-seek. I didn’t need a new toy to get a moment to breathe; I just needed to step back. Our son’s uncle played with him while my husband and I had a meal together. A neighbor watched him outside while I showered.
When we returned home, the piles of blocks and stuffed animals felt suffocating, prompting us to declutter. Then we finally knocked on our neighbor’s door and invited them over to play the new games we’d been taught.
We learned we don’t need toys to survive parenthood — we need a community willing to share the load.
Coming back to the US felt lonely
Coming back to the US — from crowded village kitchens to a spacious living room with no one to fill it — felt painfully lonely.
But the lessons translate. It’s OK to ask for help — even an uninterrupted meal or shower helps me reset. I can drop a routine when it’s no longer working. Parenting is hard — I’m trying to give myself grace.
Our trip to India didn’t magically fix everything. There are still 3 a.m. wake-ups. I’m still working on being patient. But it reminded us of what matters most: relationships with our son and the people we love.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
