My Real Life

A few weeks ago, I wrote about our struggles with Tiny.

After we spent those three days in the hospital, he forgot how to put himself to sleep.

The little guy who used to say “Night Night, Mama” and roll over and go to sleep suddenly had to be put in the crib fast asleep or else no one was sleeping.

I knew what we had to do, but I didn’t want to.

We went to the doctor for a regular check-up and I explained what was going on and she said, “You need to let him cry it out.  He’s a smart boy and he’s a stubborn boy.”

Basically, she said he was playing us.

“Yeah, but he stands there and cries and I think he gets stuck and doesn’t know how to get back to laying down.”

She narrowed her eyes and looked at me.  “Amy…have you ever seen him stand and then sit in the crib?”

“Yes,” I answered, avoiding her gaze.

“He knows how to get down.  He’s choosing not to because he wants you to do things his way.  No 2 year old is going to stand up in his crib all night.  Eventually, he will have enough and he will lay down and go to sleep.”

I got home and told Real Man what she said and he said, “You knew that’s what she was going to say.  So, tonight?”

I agreed.  That night.

So, at bedtime, we went through the normal bedtime routine, and I’ll be damned if that little boy didn’t fall asleep in my arms while I was singing to him.

AND went through the transition from rocker to crib without waking up.

So…plans were postponed until the next night when he did exactly what I thought he’d do.

Snuggled in during singing and then when I put him in the crib, he popped up like a Jack in the Box and said “No, Mama!  No, Mama!”

I said, “Night, night sweetie.  I’ll see you in the morning,” and closed the door.

He. Wasn’t. Having. It.

So, first there were tears.  Tears and tears and tears.

It killed me, but I held strong.

After about four hours, I turned to Real Man and said, “I gotta go get him.”

Real Man said, “Amy…it’s been 7 minutes.”

Darn.

So, I waited another 23 minutes and then I followed the doctors advice and went to his bedroom door…didn’t open it, just stood outside…and said “Tiny, it’s time for sleeping.  You need to lay down and go to sleep.”

That made him mad.

Tears were gone and now he moved into his best Linda Blair imitation.

“Mama!  Close the door!” (He gets “open” and “close” confused sometimes)  “Mama!  Michael said close the door!”

Let it go for 45 minutes this time, went back to the door, reassured him he was fine and told him to go to sleep.

So, he tried a different tactic.

“Mama?  Mama?  I like the iPad.  Pwease.  I like to play iPad.  Pwease?”

“Mama!  Mama!  Brown bear, brown bear, what do you see?”

“Mama?  Mama!  I like-a get dressed now.”

After an hour, I went back to the door and told him it was time to sleep.

So, he started whining and crying, whining and crying.

Every now and then there would be little breaks that would last from 5 to 15 minutes when I knew he had fallen asleep while standing up, but then he would wake up and start calling again.

And extending the interval by 15 minutes each time, every few hours, I would go to the door and remind him that I was there and he was okay and it was time to go to sleep.

He cycled through exorcism, being cute, and crocodile tears throughout the night, never stopping for more than 15 minutes at a time.

Real Man eventually dozed, but I stayed up, listening to every breath, every silence, on pins and needles, all night long.

At 5:30 a.m. I decided to call it.

I got out of bed, walked to his room, opened the door and said “Good morning, sunshine!”

I wasn’t sure what I’d find.

I half expected him to be puffy faced, red-eyed, half-asleep hanging over the crib.

He was none of those.

I walked in, he stood up, clear-eyed, bright smile and said “Good morning, Mama!”

Which let me know that the doctor had been right.  He had been playing me like a baby grand.  My boy was fine.  He just wanted things to be his way.

He is, however, two, and so I was not the least bit surprised when he fell asleep on the two minute drive to his babysitters house.

I told her to let him sleep for a few hours, but he should be up by 11 a.m. otherwise, it was all going to spin out of control.

He had a great day at her house, and a wonderful afternoon at home, and at bedtime, I was geared up for whatever would come.

Real Man and I went through the bedtime routine and after songs, when I put him in the crib, up he popped.

“No Mama!”

I told him I loved him, but it was time for bedtime, and left the room.

He yelled at me through the wall for 20 minutes and then, just stopped.

I heard him lay down and that was that.

Of course, I suffer from the most common of motherhood diseases: silent child paranoia, and so after twenty more minutes, I went into his room to make sure he was okay.

He was fine.  Fast asleep, face was dry, confirming there had been no tears, and sleeping peacefully.

On the third night, as I walked him to his crib and put him down, he said “Night, night, Mama,” and went right to sleep.

And so far, we haven’t looked back.

I know it’s not for everyone.

And believe me, if I had heard real sadness or despair in his voice at any time during the night, I would have gone right in there, scooped him up and rocked that boy to sleep.

But he was fine and even his days seem to be better now that he’s sleeping without any help.

I’m proud of him.  I’m proud of us.

It’s so hard to be a parent and to know what the right thing to do is, and the truth is, at the end of the day, there probably isn’t a “right” thing to do at all.

It’s just a “what works for us” thing.

So, we all keep trying and trying and trying and trying.

And, if we’re lucky…somewhere in there…something will work.

And we’ll get some sleep.