6:00 AM – Let the Chaos Begin
There’s no gentle alarm or peaceful sunrise moment here. My day starts with my 3-year-old (ADHD in full effect) jumping on my bed like it’s a trampoline while listing dinosaurs in alphabetical order. Meanwhile, my 5-year-old is already deep in a conversation about what clouds are made of. The baby? Oh, she’s the background music—crying, cooing, and demanding to be held at the exact moment I realize I forgot to pee… again.
Coffee is not optional. It’s survival. And let me tell you, this thermal coffee carafe has saved my mom sanity more than once. It keeps the brew hot long after I’ve had to reheat my patience.
7:30 AM – Breakfast with a Side of Meltdown
Cereal bowls must match specific colors. The spoon can’t be too shiny. And if a banana breaks in half, well… we’re all going down with the ship.
The baby is cluster feeding, my 3-year-old is trying to climb the pantry shelves like a squirrel on espresso, and my 5-year-old is upset because I said “no” to watching a 45-minute educational documentary before breakfast.
You haven’t known chaos until you’ve tried to butter toast one-handed while babywearing and simultaneously fielding a meltdown over the audacity of toast crust.
9:00 AM – The Great Clothing Debate
Dressing three kids under five is like trying to coordinate a Broadway costume change—with actors who all want to be dragons.
My 5-year-old insists on wearing their sparkly cape (again), and my 3-year-old will only wear their favorite “soft-soft” pants (that happen to be inside out and covered in peanut butter). Meanwhile, I’m just trying to get my shirt on right-side forward.
We’ve discovered sensory-friendly socks that don’t trigger “sock rage,” and honestly? Life-changing. No more tears over bumps or seams—at least in that department.
10:00 AM – Sensory Play and Real Talk
Sensory bins, water play, kinetic sand—it all starts with the best intentions. Five minutes in? The baby is trying to eat the sand, the 3-year-old is using the rice bin as a hat, and my 5-year-old is deeply offended that the pom-poms won’t “stay organized.”
And you know what? That’s okay.
I’ve learned to let go of picture-perfect Pinterest activities. Our sensory play isn’t always “calm and focused,” but it’s ours. It’s joyful. It’s therapeutic. And yes, sometimes it’s a total mess.
12:00 PM – Lunch (AKA Feeding Time at the Zoo)
Everyone wants something different. The baby’s nursing, the 3-year-old is only eating beige food, and the 5-year-old suddenly decides they don’t “trust cucumbers.”
I rotate through our usual go-to meals: bento-style snack plates, pasta, and my personal favorite—anything that doesn’t require a stovetop.
Pro tip? We use divided plates with suction bases so no one’s food is “touching.” Because heaven forbid the carrot make contact with the cheese cube.
I eat scraps off their plates and consider that my lunch. Chef’s choice.
1:00 PM – Rest Time (LOL)
The baby finally naps—thank you, white noise machine and desperate pacing.
The 3-year-old is doing “quiet time,” which is code for singing at the top of their lungs and building a Lego tower that doubles as a microphone. My 5-year-old is using tablet time to watch animal documentaries and pretend they’re narrating their own nature show.
This is the most peace I’ll get all day. I drink cold coffee and scroll Instagram in the bathroom like it’s a spa retreat.
3:00 PM – Afternoon Adventures and Mini-Crises
Post-nap energy hits different. We head outside to burn it off—bikes, chalk, nature walks. And by “walks,” I mean someone usually ends up needing to pee in the bushes or having a meltdown because the clouds “look too mean.”
We’ve had entire outings derailed by a sudden tag in a shirt, a dog barking too loudly, or a surprise sprinkler.
But some days? The sun shines, the meltdowns are minimal, and I breathe in that rare quiet moment and think, We’re doing okay.
5:00 PM – Dinner Shuffle
Dinner is often three different meals: one with “no green stuff,” one shaped like dinosaurs, and one I eat cold while standing.
I gave up the idea of everyone eating the same meal at the same time a long time ago. Our dinner table isn’t quiet, and it’s definitely not tidy—but it’s real. And it’s filled with stories, laughter, and the occasional loud “NO THANK YOU!” when broccoli appears.
7:00 PM – Bedtime Olympics
Three words: controlled. bedtime. chaos.
The baby is overtired and squirmy. The 3-year-old is stuck on a loop asking, “Why do owls have big eyes?” The 5-year-old wants one more story, one more question, one more hug.
We do bath time with bubbles. Pajamas (preferably tag-free). Teeth brushing with a toothbrush that lights up and sings. And these kid-safe wireless headphones (affiliate link) help with wind-down meditations or bedtime stories on loop.
Eventually, they’re all asleep. Eventually.
9:00 PM – Mama’s Time (Sort of)
I collapse on the couch, sometimes with a snack, sometimes with a sense of accomplishment, sometimes with tears in my eyes.
Parenting is hard. Neurodivergent parenting? Even harder. But there’s a magic in the chaos. There’s resilience in the way we adapt. There’s love in the eye contact that doesn’t come easy and trust in the cuddles that do.
Final Thoughts
A day in our life isn’t quiet. It’s not curated. But it’s ours.
If you’re a neurodivergent mom like me, just trying to keep your house semi-upright while raising beautifully complex kids, I see you. I am you.
You’re doing enough. You are enough.
Affiliate Products Featured:
One thought on “A Real Day in the Life of a Neurodivergent Mom of 3”