Mattea’s mornings in a tiny Texas town started with chaos long before sunrise. Her baby, Aurora, was five months old and determined to turn sleep into an Olympic sport she would never win. Her oldest, Seleste, five years and full of energy, woke up ready to conquer the day while her mom’s eyes were still half-glued shut. Somewhere in the mix was Kris, her husband, blissfully unaware of the all-night feeding sessions that had turned their bed into a battlefield of blankets, bottles, and baby limbs. Mattea had always loved to draw. Doodles, sketches, little comics about everyday life; it was her way of processing the world. Her art had changed over the years, growing alongside her. Where she once drew carefree characters and whimsical stories, now her sketchbook was full of motherhood: spilled milk, sticky fingers, and the bittersweet mess.
One bleary-eyed morning, after another night of broken sleep, she found herself trying and failing to explain to Kris why she was so grumpy. The words would not come, probably because she had not slept more than two hours in a row for months. So instead of talking, she did what she always did best. She picked up a pen. With a steaming cup of coffee beside her, she began to draw. She captured the story that her exhausted words could not tell in a few simple panels. A baby was crying in the middle of the night. There was Mattea, who was half-awake, comforting and feeding. And beside her was Kris, sound asleep, untouched by the storm of parenting that raged inches away.
As the drawings continued, they became funnier and a little too real. The baby scratched her, spitting up, and kicking her in the ribs, while Kris snoozed peacefully. Then morning came, and Mattea sat in the cartoon, disheveled and hollow-eyed, holding a sleeping baby while her husband stretched and smiled, rested and ready for the day. It was not anger she felt, really; it was exhaustion mixed with a quiet kind of love only parents of newborns truly understand. When she finished, she slid the comic toward him with a sleepy grin. It was not meant to be deep or viral or even particularly serious. It was just her way of saying, This is what my nights look like. It was honesty wrapped in humor, a love letter written in messy lines and tired laughter.
Mattea shared the drawings online, hoping to give other moms a chuckle. She thought a few friends might see it, maybe a handful of fellow sleep-deprived parents who could relate. But the internet had other plans. Within days, her simple sketch had been shared thousands of times. Moms from all over the world commented that it felt like she had drawn their nights. Some tagged their partners, some laughed, and some admitted they cried a little too.
Her husband Kris, found the whole thing both hilarious and humbling. He had always thought her comics were cute, but now he saw how deeply they resonated. The drawings were not just jokes; they were windows into the unseen labor of motherhood, the quiet hours no one talks about. What surprised Mattea most was how much love and encouragement flooded in. Strangers thanked her for putting humor into their exhaustion and for showing the truth of parenting without shame or blame. The comic had sparked conversations, not just about how hard those early months can be but also about partnership, patience, and the need to laugh even when you are running on empty.
In a world where social media often shows the polished version of family life, her little doodles became a reminder that parenting is messy, funny, and deeply human. Being a good mom does not always mean smiling; it means showing up, even bleary-eyed and frazzled, again and again. Mattea often says that laughter is her survival tool. “If you cannot laugh,” she reminds people, “you will cry.” And when she is tempted to cry, she reaches for her pen instead. Through her art, she finds a bit of control, a way to turn chaos into connection.
These days, her house is still noisy, her coffee still gets cold, and her nights are still unpredictable. But occasionally, she catches Kris smiling at one of her comics and saying, “You nailed it.” In those moments, she knows the drawings are doing more than making people laugh; they are helping her family see each other more clearly.
