They call it "Ferber-izing" or "controlled crying". I should have started it about five or six months ago; but, there's nothing like the smell and feel of a baby rocking to sleep in your arms. And it was no big deal at first. I'd rock him to sleep, put him in his crib and he'd sleep through the night. Maybe fuss a little for his sucky around 4 a.m. I'd get up, pop it in his mouth and we were all getting sleep. Then at 8 months it all stopped. One night he simply began waking up every 45 minutes. Of course, I couldn't keep my eyes open or my arm supportive in the rocking chair, so eventually I brought him to bed with me.
Oh, I can hear all the old ladies now clucking their tongues and shaking their heads. "They'll play you, babies know how". Well, of course they do. And I was made to be played. I'm a sucker for tears, puppy dog eyes and heartfelt calls of "Mama". But it's not doing either of us any good at this point.
My love's first birthday is only a few short weeks away (gee, can that much time have passed and I still have this much stomach left?) and I realized that I can count the number of times I, personally, have slept through the night (in the past year) on one hand. Trust me, I'm not the kind of gal who can go long stretches like that. And just because I have proven that I can and not (yet) keel over doesn't mean that I should. See, that concept applies to all aspects of life, doesn't it? But the sleep deprivation is showing. Not just in my skin and eyes, but in the little games I have to play with myself to stay not just awake but alert behind the wheel. Having been a highly verbal person all my life, it's also frustrating not to come up with the simplest words like "pond" and "street". Jeopardy is definitely out of the question these days.
So, on the advice of my former pediatrician, his nurses and my Ob/Gyn's nursing staff (who swear by it), I have bought the book, read it cover to cover and then once again, worked myself up to it and finally realized that I had to try. My child has never had to fall asleep by himself in his life. This is not a good lesson. The number of children I know with serious sleep problems stem from facts just such as these. My doctors and nurses assure me that I'm not permanently scarring him and that he really will forgive me ten minutes later. Just be strong, they say. Not my forte.
It is day two. I have already seen signs of hope, but the tunnel which we must pass through is extremely dark and frustrating. Probably full of bats, too. The first night, baby cried for 1 and 1/2 hours. Faithfully following the program, I went to him after the first five minutes, stroked his head, gave him a kiss, made sure he knew I was there and taking care of him. It took everything I had not to pick him up and hold him. Then I went away (how I can suck at on-line Mah Jong as badly as I do when I have played so many hours lately, listening at the door) and waited ten minutes. Went back and checked and kissed and calmed and then sucked at Mah Jong some more. Went back every fifteen minutes after that. Oh, I am a terrible Mom.
Yesterday he cried through both his nap times. I went for a drive to Popham State Beach just so he could have the excuse to snooze without losing face. Trust me, I understand stubborness. Ain't called Missouri Mules for nothin'. So by last night, he managed to fall asleep in less than 35 minutes. Huh. Go figure.
I did manage to keep from waking him up when I discovered evidence of the mouse in the pan drawer of the stove. Well, of course there's a mouse. Why wouldn't there be? And my two cats. Desperately trying to catch it, but they are a little out of practice. Boobala, the younger, is all show. Jinx, the mom, just sits and waits. If the mouse happens to come to her she will, of course, dispatch it quickly and, perhaps, evilly. But it has to come to her.
Finally stayed asleep several hours. At last! Sweet sleep. This process is even harder when sharing a bedroom, by the way. I haven't learned how to climb the first three stairs without them creaking. He wakes up. We start the process again. Only takes twenty minutes. Mom finally gets to sleep about 11:30. Baby wakes up at 1:15. We do it again. Baby goes to sleep and wakes up every ten minutes. Baby finally goes back to sleep around 3 a.m. Mom makes it into bed without waking baby up by 3:30. 5:45 starts another crying binge. Mom has to be up in fifteen minutes anyway to start another teenager day.
Do I believe in this? Well, it's nap time. He's been down 20 minutes and hasn't stopped crying yet and he's hardly slept at all in a day and a half. I don't know. But I can't stop it this soon or I will have put him through all this hell for nothing. I'm hoping it works. He needs to sleep. Almost as important: I need to sleep. Our health, welfare and above all, safety, depend on this.
So I give lots of extra love and attention. I cry at the computer where he can't hear me because I want so badly to pick him up. I haven't had a shower in four days (hey, when they don't sleep and nobody else is around to help you out...). I've slept in the same pair of jeans for two nights (my daughter doesn't need to be grossed out) and my hair needs to be touched up. Hell, brushed would be good. I don't want to drink any coffee just in case he actually does fall asleep and I can catch a snooze myself. Cuz I'd much rather sleep than de-stink.
So, I shall do my best to imitate strong people that I've known or read about. I will tell myself that I'm doing it for his own good. I will dream of bubble baths and full night's sleep and happy babies and while I'm at it I think I'll dream up a really nice dinner that doesn't come out of a cold cardboard box these days.
Damn mouse.
