Bedtime

Two nights ago I suffered the usual bedtime battle with my 3-month-old.  He is not an easy sleeper.  He fights. He cries hysterically. He squirms.  Most nights I wrap him in a sling and pace up and down the street until eventually he succumbs.  

 

On a recent evening he fell asleep but quickly awoke. I tried again, walking him around the block until he slept. I returned hot and tired, demanding ice water and ice cream from my husband, who was sitting reading on the couch.  We settled in to watch “Chopped” on Food Network, our nightly “grown up time” routine and then I went to bed.  

I laid down with the baby (My husband and I co-sleep with our baby as we had with our older son) and once again settled him as the trip to the bedroom had woken him up.  Exhausted I started to fall asleep only to discover the room was too cold.  

I went to shut the window and left the baby behind on the bed--thinking he was fast asleep--only to have him rouse, once again.  Yet, this time he would not fall asleep. I cradled and rocked him in my arms and he squirmed, uncontrollably, nearly jumping from my arms.

I placed him in his co-sleeper and I cried.  

Eventually my husband took him for a walk and was able to place a peaceful baby in my arms. Tomorrow will be different I thought as I drifted off to sleep.

The following day my husband and I set to work cleaning up the nursery, also known as the catchall, with a crib used for laundry.  I reasoned that if the room was cleaned of clutter and the crib changed from a toddler bed back to a functional crib, I would get the baby to transition smoothly from sleeping in our room to his own.  
 

Later, I made an attempt: placing him for his afternoon nap in his newly cleaned room.  As usual, I rocked him, walked him, nursed him and then gently laid a sleeping baby into his awaiting crib.
  

He spent the next 45 minutes awake, in his crib, while my husband, my three-year-old and I took turns checking on him, soothing him and praying he would sleep.

No luck.

I once again wrapped him -- all 16 pounds-- and began walking. He soon fell asleep.  

Later that evening we returned from an outing and my husband and older son retired to the basement to watch television. I took the baby into the nursery, feeling hopeful. I was going to settle him, put him in his crib and join my husband (knowing our 3 year old would be fast asleep).

Then, we would rest with ice-cream and “Chopped.”

And so it began….

While I nursed my baby I thought of my sister-in-law who recently had her first child.  I thought about a piece of advice I would give her: “When your infant is inconsolable, just remember that it can’t last forever, the baby has to give in to sleep eventually, there is an end in sight.”  

My baby finished nursing and began to fuss.

 
I rocked him and he began to settle. Then, he spit up, all over both of us.  Not wanting to disturb his calm, I wiped his and my arms with my shirt .  My spirits were still high . I still had hope. I would get him to sleep, wait 15 minutes, put him in his crib, plug in the monitor and be free. My nightly routine awaited.

After more rocking and pacing his eyes closed and his body went limp.  Success. I looked at the clock and made my plan.  

A minute later his eyes opened. He looked at me and my heart sank.  

I was tired and my hip hurt.  I was sweating and my mouth was dry.  I smelled of spit up.  I gave up.

I climbed into bed, with my now-screaming baby, feeling defeated, knowing in my heart that I would be once again on my feet, with 16 pounds of screaming baby slung around my neck.  

Instead, I just lay there, watching him, curled in the crook of my arm,  as he slipped peacefully into sleep.