What Baby Justin Bieber Taught Me About 3 AM Survival

It was 3:17 AM, and I was wearing my husband Dave’s oversized college hoodie that smelled faintly of sour milk and complete desperation. Leo, who was exactly four weeks and two days old at the time, was doing that arching-back, red-faced screaming thing. You know the one. I was pacing the hallway of our cramped apartment, bouncing him so aggressively I thought my calves might literally snap in half.

Dave was snoring. I want to make that very clear. He was doing that soft, rhythmic breathing that makes you want to gently smother your partner with a decorative throw pillow. My brain had completely emptied itself of every single traditional lullaby. Every single one. So I was literally bouncing a screaming infant while whisper-singing a 2010 pop song, doing the whole baby baby justin bieber chorus on repeat because it was the only melody my fried neurons could access.

The problem was, I couldn't remember the bridge. So there I was, swaying in the dark, desperately typing into my phone with one greasy thumb, trying to find the go baby justin bieber lyrics so I could keep crooning until he passed out. I spent at least twenty minutes scrolling through baby justin bieber lyrics while my child hollered into my collarbone. Glorious.

Fast forward to right now. I'm sitting at my kitchen island, reheating my coffee for the fourth time this morning, and scrolling through the news about Jack Blues Bieber. Or baby j, as the internet has apparently decided to call him. And honestly? Looking at what Justin and Hailey are sharing about their newborn experience is bringing all those 3 AM flashbacks rushing back. We tend to think celebrities have it all figured out with their round-the-clock night nurses and private chefs who make organic bone broth on demand. But a screaming newborn in the middle of the night is the great equalizer. Spit-up doesn't care about your Grammy awards.

The red light thing my doctor actually agreed with

Let’s talk about the red light on the nightstand. Justin recently posted a picture of this red light lamp they use in their bedroom, and I instantly felt a pang of big jealousy that I didn't know about this trick when Leo was tiny. I used to flip on the bathroom overhead light to change his diaper at 2 AM. Which was basically like pointing a stadium floodlight directly into his tiny retinas. He would immediately think it was party time. Dave would stumble in, trip over the rug, swear loudly, and the whole house would be awake until dawn.

My pediatrician, Dr. Miller—who always wears these amazing patterned glasses and never judges me for showing up to appointments with unwashed hair—finally took pity on me after I sobbed in her office about getting zero sleep. She mumbled something about how blue light from our phones and normal lightbulbs tricks a baby's brain into thinking the sun is up. But red light? Red light is the magic loophole. She explained that it doesn't mess with their cortisol levels or stop their tiny confused bodies from making melatonin. At least, I think that's what she said. I got a solid C in high school biology. Anyway, the point is, you swap your regular nursery bulb for a red one, and they actually go back to sleep after a feed instead of staring at you like you owe them money.

Birth trauma is real even if you've a private chef

Hailey Bieber also opened up recently about her birth being really hard, which made me pause my doom-scrolling. She was leaking amniotic fluid at 39 weeks and had to be induced, laboring for 18 hours without an epidural. Oh god, just reading that makes my own nether regions clench in sympathy.

When I had Maya, my water broke in the frozen foods aisle at Trader Joe’s. Yes, really. Right next to the cauliflower gnocchi. I was wearing suede boots that got completely ruined, and my entire meticulously typed, three-page birth plan went out the window in a spectacular fashion. My doctor told me later that when your water breaks early, they usually have to induce you pretty quickly so you don't get an infection. I ended up hooked up to so many machines I felt like a science experiment, and it took me months to process the fact that my body didn't do the magical, peaceful lotus birth thing I had pinned on my vision board.

Hailey posted this whole thing about giving yourself grace because you grew a human, and honestly, I felt that in my bones. The postpartum period is just a messy, sweaty, hormonal blur. You have to stop punishing yourself for not bouncing back or for getting the epidural or for feeding them formula. You just survived a massive medical event. Sit on your ice pack and drink the damn coffee.

We need to talk about the fourth trimester sweat fest

Usher apparently gave Justin some advice about savoring the first three months. Which is lovely and poetic, Usher, but you're not the one dealing with a baby who wakes up soaking wet because you wrapped them in a cheap polyester swaddle. The fourth trimester is an absolute sweat fest. Newborns are like little damp hot water bottles. They can't control their own body temperature, which Dr. Miller told me is why their hands are freezing but the back of their neck feels like a pizza oven.

Leo was a furnace. I used to swaddle him in these adorable but incredibly unbreathable blankets we got from my baby shower. He’d wake up cranky, damp, and smelling faintly of sour cheese. I spent half my life doing laundry.

I finally discovered the Bamboo Baby Blanket from Kianao, and I'm not exaggerating when I say it changed my life. Well, it changed my laundry routine, which is basically the same thing when you've a newborn. It’s made of this ridiculous organic bamboo blend that actually breathes. My friend Sarah, who seriously understands fabrics, told me bamboo naturally keeps stable temperature. I just know it’s so stupidly soft I kind of want an adult-sized one for myself. We got the one with the little yellow and orange planets on it, and the difference was wild. Leo stopped waking up covered in sweat. We still use the massive 120x120cm one now that he's a chaotic toddler, and he drags it around the living room like a cosmic security blanket.

If you're currently drowning in baby sweat and sleep deprivation, do yourself a favor and check out the whole organic baby collection. Just replace the cheap synthetic stuff before you completely lose your mind.

That whole sustainable pace of life idea

A while ago, Justin posted his "Family Rules" on Instagram, and one of them was about valuing a sustainable pace of life. A sustainable pace. I laughed out loud when I read that, mostly because I was currently trying to get Maya to eat a piece of toast while simultaneously looking for Leo’s left shoe and yelling at the dog to drop a Lego. But I get what he means. We rush around so much. The pressure to buy all the plastic gadgets and have the perfectly curated nursery is exhausting.

Part of that sustainability thing for me has been changing what I genuinely put on my kids' bodies. I used to buy so much fast-fashion baby crap. I’d see a cute dinosaur shirt for three dollars and just throw it in the cart, not caring that it felt like sandpaper. Now I try to stick to organic stuff when I can afford to.

We have the Sleeveless Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit from Kianao. It’s fine! It’s a really solid, reliable onesie. The organic cotton is definitely softer than the stiff multipack stuff from the big box stores, and the neck hasn't stretched out into that weird, droopy bacon shape after being washed fifty times. It does the job perfectly without irritating Maya's weird little eczema patches.

Also, can we just collectively agree to stop putting stiff leather shoes on infants who can't even walk yet? It's absurd. They just kick them off in the grocery store parking lot anyway and then you've to retrace your steps while sweating profusely. Stop with the baby shoes.

Surviving the teeth phase without losing your mind

Oh god, the teeth. The teeth are coming for all of us. I don't care if you're a multi-millionaire pop star or a tired mom in the suburbs driving a minivan with crushed Cheerios in the floorboards. When those little white nubs start pushing through the gums, your baby will turn into a tiny, drooly monster who wants to gnaw on your collarbone.

Maya was a nightmare teether. She started at exactly four months. Four months! She was just a tiny potato with aggressive gums. She chewed on everything. My fingers, the edge of the coffee table, the dog's actual tail. I was paranoid about her chewing on painted wooden toys because I read one scary article at 3 AM and decided everything was toxic.

We ended up getting her this Panda Teether because it’s made of food-grade silicone. You can throw it in the fridge, which honestly feels like a magic trick when they're really screaming and their face is hot. The cold numbs the gums a bit. Nothing cures teething completely except time and maybe a strong margarita for the parents once the kid is finally asleep, but having something safe they can aggressively chomp on definitely helps preserve your sanity.

We're all just trying to figure it out. Whether you're writing platinum records or just trying to remember what day the recycling goes out, the early days of parenthood are a beautiful, terrifying blur. You just have to turn off the blinding overhead lights, wrap them in something that really breathes, and somehow try to give yourself a tiny shred of grace. And drink more coffee. Always more coffee.

Ready to upgrade your baby’s sleep situation without resorting to desperate late-night Google searches? Check out Kianao's organic sleep and teething gear right now so you can honestly get some rest tonight.

Messy answers to your late-night questions

Why the hell do people use red lights for baby sleep?

Because blue light from our phones and regular lamps wakes up their brain! It's so annoying. My pediatrician told me red light doesn't stop their bodies from making melatonin, so they don't think it's playtime during a 2 AM feed. It's totally worth swapping out a bulb. Just trust me on this one.

How do you deal with the guilt of a traumatic birth?

Oh man, the guilt is the absolute worst part. You just have to realize it wasn't your fault. When my water broke early and I ended up hooked to a million monitors, I felt like my body failed. But sometimes things just happen and medical interventions keep you and the baby safe. Talk about it to anyone who will listen. Cry in the shower. It gets lighter eventually.

Are bamboo blankets seriously better or is it just marketing?

I thought it was totally made up hipster nonsense until I used one. Bamboo really does breathe way better than standard cotton or that cheap synthetic fleece stuff. Leo stopped waking up in a puddle of his own sweat. It's like wearing a breezy linen shirt on a hot day instead of a plastic garbage bag. Worth every penny.

What really makes a baby product sustainable anyway?

For me, it means it’s not going to fall apart after three washes and end up in a landfill. Things made from organic cotton or bamboo, without harsh dyes, that can really survive multiple blowouts and be passed down to the next kid. It's about buying fewer things that seriously work, instead of a mountain of cheap plastic.

Is the fourth trimester really as bad as everyone says?

Yes and no. It's a massive, terrifying shock to your entire system. You're basically functioning as a human mattress for 12 straight weeks. But it also goes by so fast that you'll look back and wonder how they were ever that small. Just lower your expectations for your house, your hair, and your inbox, and surrender to the couch.