I really appreciated the informative and supportive comments of my readers regarding my toddler’s sleep situation. Thank you, all!
Last night I tried an earlier bedtime. V was showing signs of being tired (rubbing her eyes, being less coordinated, arguing with me at a pitch slightly closer to hysteria), so we started our bedtime ritual earlier. A cup of milk, brushing teeth and washing hands, reading books in bed together, then the night-night CD, lights out and me lying beside her. It was going very well.
Until it wasn’t. She just wasn’t going to sleep. She was lying there quietly, but her eyes were open. Eventually, she started standing on her head and giving me the “aren’t I mischievous?” grin. I decided to take someone’s advice and take advantage of V’s advanced language skills. I told her that it was time to sleep. I told her that if she wanted Mommy to lie down with her (always careful to use the correct verb), she had to go to sleep. Finally, I explained that if she didn’t go to sleep, Mommy was going to go in the other room and not lie down with her.
And my obstinate little child told me to “Go away. I want you to leave.”
I wasn’t even out the door when the tears started. I walked down the hall to where Odie was enjoying what I hope someday will be “our” evening and informed him, “In a minute, she’s going to come crying down the hall.” I implored him. “Please don’t greet her. Don’t say anything to her. Just pick her up and carry her back to bed. I’ll come in to talk to her in five minutes.”
One thing about Odie, he is always ready to help. Love that about him. He scooped her right up and took her down the hall.
I watched the clock for what seemed like an eternity listening to my daughter wailing, “I want my mommy!” I was tired enough to be pretty tough about it, but when she cried, “Mommy, come back, pleeeeeaaaaaassssse!” I almost lost my shit. It’s usually amazingly fun that V talks so much and so well, but when she uses that talent as a weapon to break my heart: less fun.
After five minutes, I calmly returned to the bedroom. V had cried the whole time. I told her that I would lie down with her if she would go to sleep. Are you ready to go to sleep now, I inquired.
“Yes,” she lied.
We tried the whole routine again fifteen minutes later. This time, I stayed away for ten minutes instead of five. After I came back, she sniffled and hiccupped and fell asleep after about fifteen minutes of me lying with her.
Victory. A small one. It was 8:4o p.m. instead of 9:20 p.m., so I got a little time to watch some TV and read my Nook.
She whined more than usual in the night, but overall, we slept okay. When I stopped breastfeeding her in the middle of the night, she cried so hard for one night. She begged and pleaded and grabbed at me and threw herself on the mattress in despair. But the next night, she was over it. She’s dramatic, yet adaptable. I’m hoping this ends up being the case with sleep training as well.
One of my friends related a story about someone who still snuggles her second-grader to sleep every night. I don’t want that to be me, but I can see how it happens. What it comes down to is this: if everyone is happy with the arrangement, then have at it. Cuddle them until they leave for college if that’s what brings you all joy. It isn’t for me. I miss cuddling my husband. I miss having more than 4 inches of mattress between me and a tumble to the floor. I want my child to learn to fall asleep by herself in her own bed. For selfish reasons? You bet. For unselfish reasons? Affirmative there too. When it comes to parenting, one thing I’ve learned is that if what you’re doing is making you resent your child, it needs to change.
I love my daughter more than words can express. And I consider myself skilled with words. A writer can describe what it feels like to be a mother, but nothing quite gets it right. The only thing more baffling than the love I feel is the frustration and helplessness I often feel. Even though she’s my first of two children, she isn’t pancake batter. I can’t have a practice one and then get the next one right. The responsibility is enormous. Her personality is set at age three. I’ve got one year to make sure I don’t turn her into a sociopath.
I’m pretty sure 5 minutes of crying isn’t going to do it. Okay, ten, but we’re still good.
The Friendly Pedant by Mrs. Odie 
Night Terrors
Every day and every night, I write in my head. I look forward to the time when I can sit at my laptop and put those thoughts and ideas into actual writing. And then my life interferes. It’s like at work, when I decide I need to sit down and grade some papers, but first I have to make sure tomorrow’s lesson is squared away. Since I’m teaching a class this year I’ve never taught before and using a brand new textbook that is frankly way above their level, the amount of “scaffolding” preparation I have to do for each lesson is staggering. It will be easier next year, when I have all that prep work done. Assuming I get the same class next year.
I rarely get to the grading, because when I’m finally ready for tomorrow, I look up at the clock and it’s time to go home.
Ever since daylight savings time started, V’s bedtime ritual has been moving later and later. I thought we’d have a few nights of adjustment, then get her back on a 7:30 bedtime. But she happily dropped that hour, then added an hour to her elaborate and growing more elaborate bedtime ritual. When I used to nurse, she would usually fall asleep within 20-30 minutes. Now, it’s never less than 45 minutes. I lie next to her in bed until she falls asleep. There’s no point in trying to start earlier. If I try to put her to sleep at 8:00, she will toss and turn and be silly for nearly two hours. She will not fall asleep before 9:30 or later, no matter when we start. She will also not fall asleep EARLIER if we begin the jammies, books, cuddle time, soothing music LATER. She will take her hour and a half to two hours to fall asleep regardless of when it starts.
“Cry it out” seemed so inhumane to me back when people suggested it to me. I read articles about how it increases the cortisol in a baby’s brain and causes permanent changes in mood that can last a lifetime. The Attachment Parenting philosophy has always rung true for me. Dr. Sears writes that I am not just a parent during the day. I am a parent 24 hours a day, and I have to be as diligent in my “night parenting” as I am in my day parenting.
But right about now, I’d like to tell Dr. Sears to take a flying leap. Why do I have a feeling that his wife was doing all the “night parenting” while he was either on-call at the hospital, or perhaps sleeping? Or maybe he was drinking beers in the living room and enjoying some World of Warcraft while his exhausted pregnant wife stared angrily at the dark ceiling as their two year-old tossed and turned and took forever to settle down and fall asleep.
Tonight I scrolled through my friends’ Facebook status updates and a childfree buddy had posted a status about enjoying some champagne on a Tuesday. And I wanted to break down crying. Because I’m feeling so bloody sorry for myself, that I can hardly stand it. (Note: use of “bloody” instead of “fucking” is direct result of extensive media coverage of British Royal Wedding). Champagne on a Tuesday sounds bloody brilliant.
The Attachment Parenting books I read during my pregnancy and V’s infancy declared that any “sleep training” or scheduling was for the convenience of the parents and NOT the baby. That the baby would let you know what she needed. Being a stay-at-home-mom for the first 16 months, I felt that I owed it to my child to put her needs first in order to make her as healthy and well-adjusted as she could possibly be.
I was a rookie. I had no experience. Two years later, it feels like a grave error but I could not have possibly felt more conviction at the time. Oh well. I’m hardly the first mom who was too soft and paid for it later.
This is a long explanation as to why I’ve only been updating my blog once a week.
It’s going to get better. Every time I’ve ever made a major shift in my way of doing things, I’ve reached a point where I’ve said to myself, “I just won’t live like this anymore.” And I am there. I am SO there.
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