There are moments holding my little boy that bring tears to my eyes and I want to last forever. I close my eyes and hold on tight, willing everything I am hearing and touching and sensing and feeling to imprint upon my memory permanently.
I am sitting here stunned, still in disbelief about the sequence of events that just occurred. First, Baby Boy had a diaper blow-out. Not so unusual. Slightly stressful as I had to deal with it myself and these days it takes 2 to change a diaper. One to keep him in position and keep limbs contained and the other to do the dirty work. So there was rolling in it and little hands in places they shouldn’t be but somehow I wrangled him into a diaper and put him in the pack and play while I could wash my hands and rinse his jammies. Which I did in the kitchen sink. With the sprayer. While he was crying in his pack and play. Suddenly it felt as though my hand slipped and then water was in my face and everywhere. The hose took on a life of its own as it began whirling around, and in the back of my mind as I was desperately trying to catch the hose and turn off the water, I couldn’t help but think, does this really happen in real life? I turned off the water and surveyed my surroundings trying to ascertain what had just happened. Somehow the sprayer nozzle had come off the hose and water was everywhere. I mean everywhere–all over the window, the counters, the island, the kitchen table, the floor. Me. Obviously. By now Baby Boy had lost it, and started screaming bloody murder. I can’t say I stayed exactly calm. Neither of my tactics to soothe him were successful. One was, “Hey, hey, hey, you have to get it together,” and then other was some sort of hysterical (not as in funny, as in maniacal) version of 10 little Indians where I substituted Baby Boy’s name for “Indian.” Meanwhile the dogs were hiding, I was panicing and repeating this is funny, this is funny, this is funny… over and over to myself.
So now most of the water has been cleaned up, Baby Boy has been comforted and I am wearing a dry shirt. None of us are worse for the wear. Time for a few deep breaths and a laugh. Oh, and to look for the sprayer nozzle which still hasn’t been found.
We are co-sleeping. Pretty much officially. I think. Reluctantly. Judge me if you must, but there it is. Before Baby Boy’s arrival, I vowed never to do this. Silly me, I believed that if I just never let him sleep with us, he simply wouldn’t know any better. Ha. I resisted, I really did. For months. Three to be exact. But chronic sleep deprivation is a funny thing. Suddenly your priorities begin to shift.
After sleeping through the night from 3 weeks on, I thought we had the sleep thing covered. I went so far as to scoff at baby sleep books I would in stores. Oh, when will I ever learn not to tempt the gods of fate?
With the exception of a few hiccups, he continued to sleep through the night until he was 5 and a half months old and we went to visit family. I chalked it up to being in a different place and assumed that all would go back to normal once we were home. You know what they say about assuming…
Needless to say, Baby Boy continued to wake every hour and a half to 2 hours. I would start off by just rubbing his back, and resist picking him up, then rock him and when all else failed, I would nurse him. By then sometimes I would have been awake for an hour or more. Often by this time Baby Boy would be wide awake and we would be up for another hour, sometimes two. Getting sleep in hour increments was just not working for me. After awhile I began nursing him right away so we could all get back to sleep sooner. As the months rolled by, I was so tired that I began to fall asleep holding him after nursing. And soon he was coming to bed with us earlier and earlier. And then one night as we were going to bed, he screamed each time I tried to put him in his crib. I said to my husband, I’m not sure what to do. My husband said, “I’m going to tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to put that baby boy’s head on the pillow and then we are all going to go to sleep.” I didn’t want to admit it, but it was the best night’s sleep I’d had in ages. I was actually rested the next day. And then the precedent was set.
I tried everything. Earlier bed time, later bed time, increasing solids, adding cereal, flannel sheets, warming the mattress, night light on, night light off, music all night, music just for 30 minutes or so. Sometimes I would get lucky, but by and large we were up every 2 hours like clockwork. After ruling everything else out it seemed obvious we were dealing with separation anxiety. The one thing I had not tried: cry it out. For many reasons, I do not believe in this method. Somehow the idea of not going to reassure my baby while he cries out for me in fear that I will not come back simultaneously seems illogical and turns my stomach.
So we have now been co-sleeping for maybe 2 weeks. I don’t see it changing any time soon. And I have to say after serious reservations, I am so much more well rested. Although it wasn’t my first choice, I guess I have accepted it. I do secretly love waking up to Baby Boy’s dimples and cherish his delight in greeting us as he wakes. Most surprising was my husband’s comment, “Sure it’s kind of annoying. But, you sleep better, I sleep better and he sleeps better ever since we started this.”
Tonight I shall be thankful for the opportunity to hold my beautiful perfect healthy son, every 2 hours or maybe even more often because I know there are plenty of people who would give anything to have this “problem”–including myself not all that long ago.
This failed last night but will continue to be my mantra until I get it right! Or until he sleeps through the night again, whichever comes first.