WRITTEN ON SEPT. 30, 2009
Well. I did it.
I never thought I would. But I did.
I just. couldn’t. take. it. a.n.y.m.o.r.e.!
Last night was the worst night we’ve had since Jack-Evan was born. Even through his 2 colds and the reflux when he was tiny, we didn’t have nights like this.
It all started out normal. Well, about as normal as any night this month has been. Sometime between 9 and 10 pm, our normal bedtime, we prepared for bed and laid down with Jack-Evan. For the 5th night in a row I refused to let him nurse before falling asleep….and ohhhh what a howl he let out. It had to be the mother of all temper tantrums.
Finally, I’m not sure how, but he managed to fall asleep, as did both of us.
And all was quiet as a mouse…until 1 am.
That’s when he woke up for the first time. After refusing him “nu nu” (his word for nursing) yet again, he then refused to sleep. For the next 3 hours we battled in between snatches of sleep here and there. He wouldn’t accept anything else, not his sippy cup, no water, no bottle, no milk. He wanted his NU NU and nothing else would satisfy. At no point did we get more than 5 minutes of sleep at a time last night.
Mommy just wanted sleep and no more sore bosoms.
Battling between my intuition and my logic, I refused to let him get on up to “play”. After all, wouldn’t that be considered “rewarding” him for waking up and throwing temper tantrums? I remembered all of the “words of advice” I’d read over the years about how you should hold your child, rock him, sing songs, comfort him, and show him how much he’s loved – and POOF! - all would be well.
Weeeellll…all was not well.
My son is not one for basic comforting when he’s upset. Touching him during a tantrum or howling mode only makes him angry. Rocking will not suffice because that involves touching. And singing sweet soothing songs? Fuggitaboooutit! Any sound that came out of my mouth, at any point, made him scream at 500 decibels louder than my own voice was.
So there we were, mom & son, battling in a huge king size bed in the dark, catching short snatches of sleep here and there. I would lay him down in the middle, he would pop back up. I would pull my shirt down, he would try to pull it back up yelling NU NU!!! at the top of his lungs. He would pound my chest, I would hold his hands and lay him back down. Back up he popped. A few times he climbed on Daddy, hoping Daddy would wake up and force Mommy to comply to his wishes.
Daddy woke up, opened one eye, turned over and pulled the covers over his head. But that’s about it.
By 4:15 am I had about all my frazzled mommy nerves could take. And I did it. Something I never in a million years thought that I, as a semi-attachment, breast-feeding, co-sleeping, easy going, baby-wearing parent, would do.
I picked up him, walked to his room, placed him in his crib, said goodnight, turned around….and walked out.
As I laid down, the house reverberated with my poor little son’s pitiful howls. I knew he was safe. I knew there was no danger. Yet my heart about gave out on me. Never in my life had I thought I’d be on a mission to just let him “cry it out”. My mind raged with thoughts of scarring my son for life because of what I had just done. Would he ever forgive me? Would this ruin any chances of him ever living a normal existence? Would he end up in therapy one day uttering to his psychologist from a couch, “Why yes, there was this one horrific moment in my childhood when it all started…”
But that’s exactly what I did. I just let him cry it out. As I pulled the covers over my head, I half dozed for the next 2 hours half while listening to my firstborn’s wails. The wails of a 17 month old child who had never slept a night further than 6 inches from me. Nevermind that Jack-Evan’s room door is only 18 inches perpendicular from ours. At least Kevin was able finally able to get an hours rest before heading off to work, considering that Jack was now crying in another room instead of directly into his Dad’s right ear.
Finally, by 6:30 am, I suddenly realized the house was quiet. Slowly I crept out of bed, tiptoeing, lest any small floor creak would send Jack-Evan into banshee scream mode again. Peeking out of our room door and into his, I saw his little tiny tired frame, sitting up on his pillow, staring out the window. He was, at least, quiet now.
I crept back to bed and laid down, falling asleep until 8:30 am when I heard a tiny voice quietly utter “Mum Mum?”. I hopped up, ran into the room to my baby, picked him up and enjoyed a 5 minute bear hug from his tiny arms.
I could sense a new era was already dawning in our development as a family. It was a change I wasn’t emotionally prepared for, yet I had always known the day would eventually come. My gut instinct let me know it’s finally time.
Tonight, we begin a new bedtime routine, one which involves separate beds…and separate rooms.
but us southerners look at snowfall as a gift.
