Posted on | June 23, 2010 | 19 Comments
My child may never sleep on his own.
If you read my blog yesterday, you know that I was all types of geared up for the “Sleep Shuffle” as described by Kim West.
I left work, picked up J, told his teachers he was in for a long night and headed home. I made enchiladas then ran to the store and bought a chocolate fudge pie (judge away) and wine. I was READY.
Husband gave J his bath and then I took over for bedtime because the Sleep Lady recommends that one parent be in control and, let’s face it, that’s gonna be me. I read J his current favorite books, Is Your Mama a Llama and Pat the Bunny, and then rocked and sang for a while. When he started to look a little drowsy, I kissed him good night and transferred him to his crib.
That is when the gates of hell swung open and demons ate my baby.
Seriously. He went complete and total ape shit. First, he stood and bounced on his mattress while banging on the crib rails and yelling. When that didn’t work, he resorted to hysterical crying. Of course, the Sleep Lady says not to let them get hysterical so I picked him up. What the Sleep Lady didn’t warn me about was that some babies, like precious J, have two speeds: Non-hysterical and Hysterical. WTF was I supposed to do? Pick him up every half a second? That didn’t seem like a good option so I laid him down again and sat back down in the rocker with my wine.
When he realized the hysterical crying was not enough, he began to kick his feet… like a mini-tantrum. It would have been cute if I weren’t teetering on the edge of insanity. I let him throw the tantrum for a bit until he was borderline psychotic then picked him back up and rocked him for a bit. When I put him down the next time, he found the winning combination.
He sat there in the crib, face red from crying, tears streaming down his face and his little hands reaching for me through the crib rails. As if that weren’t enough, he also started rocking his body back and forth. Oh. My. God. Game. Set. Match. J wins. I lost my mind. I was sobbing so hard that Husband came back and pulled me out of the rocking chair.
“This is not for us” he said. “Every baby is different.”
And with that seal of approval, I snatched up my baby and rocked him to sleep.
I realize I could try again tonight but will I? Nope. I’m done with sleep training. I am going at this through the back door instead. We’ve cut back his daytime nursing. Bottles at daycare will be every four hours this week and we’ll see if that helps. (If not I am still not totally opposed to the Xanax and crib strapping but since someone found my blog yesterday by searching “Bad Mommas” I should probably mind my Ps and Qs.)
This morning I took out all my frustrations on failing at Sleep Training on Husband. Just before I left for work he told me that I needed to “chill out” in the mornings and not “yell” at J in complete sentences. I calmly explained to him that I was no yelling at J, I was explaining things to him in my frustrated voice. Because that’s different, right? Then I threw the kicker back at him right before I shut the door to leave for work…
“Maybe I wouldn’t be so frustrated if you would HELP ME OUT IN THE MORNINGS. Love you, bye.”
“Luanne is mature” right? (FYI that’s a Shag reference… my name is not Luanne.) Maturity is not my forte. I guess you could say that along with eating sugar when I’m upset, immaturity in relationships is my greatest foible. Well, besides sarcasm. And maybe saying inappropriate things at inappropriate times. Aw hell, I’m full of foibles.
Maybe THAT’S why I’m failing at Sleep Training. Or maybe it’s Kim West’s fault. Yeah. Let’s blame her. Thanks for nothing, Sleep Lady. My kid has out smarted you and me both. (I should note that blaming other people for my own problems is NOT a foible… it’s a strength I take pride in.)