This is Oliver in the daytime.
This is him at night:
Nope, no photo here. Once that nursery door is closed I am committed to walking away. No photo, but the picture is that Oliver is screaming right now. We have ascribed to the cry-it-out method in hopes that soon, each of us will be sleeping in our own beds. We've had decent success. My brave parents started the attempt when Michael and I were out of town last weekend, and Ollie tested them for about 45 minutes each night. Slowly the screaming shortened in duration. We actually though we were in the clear by Tuesday.
"Geez," I said to Michael. "If I knew it would only take a few nights, I would have manned up a long time ago."
Or not. I spoke too soon; apparently we have a little ways to go. Each night, it's anyone's guess if he'll bellow for an hour, 20 minutes, or not at all. If he'll need to be out cold before he hits the overpriced BabySerta mattress or if wide awake won't bother him a bit.
When I hold him as things wind down in the evening, moving towards the goal of slumber, my muscles get tense. My mind starts racing. How much of the heart-wrenching wailing will we have to get through tonight? How many minutes of me thinking, "if he hits his head, gets his tiny fingers stuck somewhere, vomits, or gets visited by alien monsters, I will never know the difference?" How much sleep will I not get because he's not as excited about bedtime as I am? How trashed from sleep deprivation will I be tomorrow, costing me another $4 at Caribou lest my car drifts across the median?
I notice my blood pressure rise a bit, and the arms that encircle my restless little boy become a bit rigid. It occurred to me the other night that this might make Ollie fight it even more. I remember learning once when riding a horse that you need to be very careful about the message you are sending to it. If you are nervous and your calves tense, the horse feels it and gets nervous, too. If you don't walk up with confidence, the horse can pretty much smell the fear. I think Oliver can smell mine. He probably thinks, "Aha! She is an exhausted weakling tonight! I'm going to put up an extra good fight so that she'll cave. I'll be free from my cribcage within the half-hour."
And so I take a deep breath and try to relax my body a bit, and send my child subliminal messages. Go to sleep. Stay asleep. Wake up late.
It's working. It's quiet now. I have now taken the reins.
Oh Kirsten I SO understand where you are coming from. :) We went through the same thing with Gabe. Elle would do 15 MAYBE 20 mins which seems tough. Gabe would go HOURS! Little punk. I maintain that it's a boy thing. Boys are so needy. :)
ReplyDeleteAnd yes, relax. When we just had Elle and were putting her to bed, we would put that lavender bedtime lotion on her. She got a little mini massage to calm her down before bed. Calmed me down a little and her. Maybe we should have tried that with Gabe. :)
You're doing great Mama!