How is it that babies know the exact moment when you have finally returned to your bed after being up with them in the middle of the night? How can they consistently choose the exact moment when you've gotten comfortable and started drifting off to sleep to start crying again?
It's not like there's some clear explanation, like "it takes me 1.5 minutes to walk from her room back to my room, another minute to get a drink and lie down, another 1.5 minutes to fix the covers and get comfortable, and another 30 seconds to fall asleep because I'm so darn exhausted." Because after that scenario plays out more than twice, you start thinking, "Hey, she's figured this out, so I'm just going to stand here at her crib and catch her at it." So you wait and watch, looking for signs that your peaceful sleeping babe is starting to wake up and turn into a wailing monster. But nothing happens. You wait five more minutes, and still nothing happens.
So you sneak to the door and wait there. Nothing. You go to the bathroom. Nothing. You go down and put the wash in the dryer. Nothing. You go stand in the door to your bedroom. You stand next to your bed. You sit on your bed. You lie down but don't fix the covers. You lie down and put just your toes under the covers. You pull the covers to your knees. You hold the monitor against your ear and listen for any little rustlings. Nothing. Finally, you rest your head and close your eyes. You take a deep breath, sigh, and let your whole body relax. Then you open your eyes and grab the monitor. Nothing. "Ok," you think, lying back down, and before you even realize you've closed your eyes and let your guard down, "WAHHHH!"
This past weekend was my first solo weekend with my dear little child. After over a month of sleeping through the night, the very first night that Dad was gone she woke up at 11:30 pm and refused to fall asleep again. After two hours of rocking she finally slept...for 45 minutes, and then was ready to eat. We repeated this scenario on a three hour loop for the rest of the night. And Saturday night. Sunday I finally realized that she had a tooth coming in: just one pointy little corner sticking out of her bottom gum. This most likely explained the midnight wakefulness and vast amounts of drool we'd been experiencing, but it didn't really solve my problem.
I talked to my sister (the wise and experienced parent of two) and she suggested infant Tylenol and the motorized swing. I said, "Yeah, but I feel bad leaving her strapped in the swing in the living room when I'm in the bedroom, and I can't sleep very well on the couch."
"Bring the swing into your room," she said. I had to pause and just breathe at the sheer genius of this suggestion.
"Why couldn't I think of that?" I asked. "How did I go two nights without thinking of that?"
"Because you're exhausted," she said. And it was true.
So, I tried it, it worked, and we both finally slept. Then Dad got home, I told him all about it, I cried, I took a nap, he prepared for a sleepless night on duty to give me a break--and she slept for ten hours straight. It seems the tooth is just hanging out now as a pointy little corner and not making any further progress. But Joe leaves tomorrow morning for another weekend away, so most likely she grow two more this weekend and I'll have something to tell you about when he gets back and I've recovered enough to post about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment