There was a season when sleep felt impossible. Our baby woke up constantly, our toddler crept into our bed at 2 a.m., and by morning I was running on fumes. I’d stumble into the kitchen desperate for coffee, already dreading bedtime before the day had even started.

There was a point when I felt like the noise never stopped. Between our dogs barking, the TV blaring, and dishes piling up, I couldn’t hear myself think. Even when I finally sat down, I felt too overstimulated to enjoy the quiet.

There was a stretch of time when dinner felt like the hardest part of my day. After chasing our kid, folding laundry, and somehow managing to squeeze in work, I’d find myself at 5 p.m. staring at the fridge, already drained.

I remember lying in bed one night after finally getting the kids to sleep. My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn’t stop racing—lists of things to do, worries about tomorrow, and guilt for not getting enough “me time” all kept me awake.

Night after night, I felt trapped in this cycle: too tired to function during the day, too restless to rest at night. It finally hit me—I wasn’t just tired, I was burned out. Something had to change.

I’ll never forget our first big trip with our little one. Between diaper bags, snacks, toys, and the stroller, I felt like we were moving a small army. The stroller, in particular, was bulky and heavy—I dreaded getting it through airport security or trying to fold it quickly while juggling everything else.

One trip ended with me near tears, sweating at the gate, and feeling like traveling with kids just wasn’t worth it. That’s when I realized: it wasn’t the travel itself that was overwhelming—it was the gear.

Mornings used to be my breaking point. The alarm would go off, the kids needed breakfast, lunches had to be packed, and somehow I still needed to find time to get myself ready for the day. By the time I managed to pour a cup of coffee, it was usually cold because I had been pulled in ten directions before I could take a sip.

One day, I sat there staring at yet another unfinished mug of coffee and thought, “This can’t be how every morning starts.” That’s when I knew something had to change.

I’ll be honest—there was a time when dinner was the most stressful part of my day. After working, running errands, and managing all the little fires of parenthood, the thought of cooking a full meal at 6 p.m. felt impossible.

We’d default to frozen pizza, chicken nuggets, or takeout more nights than I’d like to admit. I wasn’t just exhausted—I was frustrated. I wanted to give my family healthy meals, but I didn’t have the time or energy. That’s when I realized: something had to change.

There was a time when evenings in our house felt like pure chaos.

Our kid was bouncing off the walls, we were exhausted from work and chores, and it felt like everyone was moving in different directions.

By bedtime, I wasn’t just tired—I was done.

I remember one night, I looked at my partner and said, “We barely spent any real time together as a family today.”

That’s when it hit me: we didn’t just need rest, we needed connection.

When our son was a baby, sleep was the one thing we couldn’t seem to figure out. We tried rocking, bouncing, lullabies—you name it. He’d fall asleep, but within 20 minutes, the tiniest sound (a dog bark, the doorbell, or even the floor creaking) would wake him up. It wasn’t just him who was sleep-deprived—it was us, too. We were running on fumes, barely making it through the day. I realized that if we were going to survive parenthood with our sanity intact, we needed a real solution.

I’ll never forget the first time we tried to travel with our little one. Between the diaper bag, the snacks, and the constant cries of “I want out!”, our giant stroller felt like dragging a piece of furniture through the airport. By the time we made it to our gate, I was sweating, frazzled, and already questioning if this trip was worth it.

That’s when I realized—our stroller wasn’t helping us; it was working against us.