Last night I texted my hubby. Nothing new, except we were both in the house. See, I was trapped in the bathroom (and yes I had my phone, don’t judge me). Here’s the deal: the babe is not sleeping in his bed. Like, ever. At three months, we were golden. Sleep training happened, we survived and moved into that glorious moment of eight hour nights. Life was good. And then he got sick. And we did what any parent would do-we brought him to bed with us. It was all in good faith that he would go back to his normal routine as soon as he was feeling better. That was five months ago. Now his normal routine includes sleeping in my bed. Every. Night.
Honestly, I really don’t care all that much. I waited 12 years for this babe, and being a working mamma it gives me that extra time to cuddle him. But. But I sort of want my bed back. At least for an hour or two a night. And we have been trying to get him back in his own bed. The problem is that his own bed happens to be in my bedroom. And I happen to have to get up before God does, so I go to bed early. And he happens to have one heck of a set of lungs on him and can cry for hours. Literally-hours.
|My little Gerber Baby|
So last night, we put him to bed at 7:30. By 9:30, he was still crying, but I really needed to hit the sack. So I comforted him (again) then went into our bathroom to finish getting ready for bed. That’s when it happened: he stopped crying. I was so excited at the prospect of actually getting to sleep in my bed, and actually stretch out a bit (gasp!) that I wouldn’t risk waking him up. So there was no way I was going to open that creaky bathroom door. I was stuck in the bathroom. What’s a girl to do? Text your hubby of course. And take a bubble bath-but the kids had soaked up all the hot water. So I played on Twitter and decided a quick shower to would be nice. Not as relaxing as a bath-but that’s okay.
As I turned off the tap, I was mentally preparing for that slip into bed. The whole mattress. To myself! (hubby goes to bed later than me) I would sleep on my back. Or on my stomach. Anything but pressed up against the edge of the bed, with a babe on my arm and his feet kicking my belly. My shoulders wrenched at that odd angle to support his noggin and keep the pillows off his face. Oh, it would be bliss. And as the last of the water turned off, I heard it. He was crying again. Sigh. Oh well. It was a happy thought.
So pulled on my comfy old t-shirt and pjs, and swung by the crib on my way to bed, where I snuggled him in close. No sooner had we hit the mattress then his little fist grabbed the cuff of my shirt like a life-line. He snuffled a little “how could you let me wait so long” sniffle, and was sound asleep. You can just call me the baby whisperer. So I breathed in his baby sent. And pushed away his chubby little feet. And thought “There’s always tomorrow.”
So tonight we began again. But after a mere hour of ear-splitting cries, I think he just might be asleep. And hey, at least so far, I haven’t been trapped in the bathroom.