It’s two in the morning when my baby wakes up crying. I glance at my phone and start the countdown, aiming for five minutes—just like the sleep expert’s book recommends—before I step in. But I rarely last that long; her whimpers are just too heartbreaking. So, I cycle through the steps: crank up the sound machine (check), place my hand on her chest (check), rock her gently in the crib (check), pick her up and rock her (check). These methods only work sometimes, and I often find myself nursing her back to sleep. As I hold her close, I can feel the tension ebb away from her small frame, and within 15 minutes, she’s peacefully asleep again. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling of failure. I’ve failed by feeding her and by not getting her to sleep independently.
In my pursuit of knowledge, I’ve absorbed an endless stream of advice from sleep consultants. A key piece of this advice is that by feeding or rocking my baby to sleep, I’m creating sleep associations—habits that will keep her dependent on me forever. Who wants that when all I crave is a few hours of uninterrupted rest? I could catch some sleep during her longest evening stretch, but doing so would mean sacrificing precious moments of adult life—dinner, a TV show, or indulging in dark chocolate—which have become sacred in my new reality.
The facilitator of one of my mom groups reminds us that even the most well-intentioned sleep coaches are selling a product. For a sleep-deprived parent, that product—a good night’s sleep—feels more compelling than any drug. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if trying harder, picking up another book, or sticking to the program more strictly might yield a different outcome.
However, the reality of early parenthood starkly contrasts with our pre-baby beliefs about infant sleep norms and safety. Isn’t it natural for babies to seek warmth, comfort, and nursing, regardless of whether they’re truly hungry or capable of sleeping through the night? If this is true, who am I to deny them? After all, self-soothing is a skill I still struggle with at 35 (thanks to countless nights of pregnancy insomnia), so how can I expect a 4-month-old to master it?
We’re told to sleep separately from our babies (in another room as soon as possible), minimize night wakings, and avoid rocking them to sleep to prevent forming “sleep crutches.” Nursing them to sleep is discouraged; they should only nurse for nourishment, and using nursing for comfort is deemed problematic. In fact, we’re advised to wean them as early as possible. If we don’t train them to sleep, their brain development could suffer and they may become obese. Co-sleeping is labeled unequivocally wrong and dangerous, and you’ll certainly feel the effects of sleep deprivation.
However, this perspective is largely a Western, particularly U.S., view. It reflects valid safety concerns about bed-sharing combined with expectations of what constitutes a “good” baby—one who can sleep through the night independently and adhere to adult schedules.
The safety issues surrounding bed-sharing are multifaceted: unhealthy habits (like smoking or alcohol use) significantly increase risks for babies, as do Western-style bedding arrangements (soft mattresses, large comforters, and fluffy pillows). However, the situation is not uniform; these risk factors don’t apply equally to all babies and mothers. Notably, SIDS rates vary widely across cultures; for instance, Japan, which has high bed-sharing rates, also boasts some of the lowest SIDS rates.
In many cultures, co-sleeping and on-demand breastfeeding are the norms. It’s logical—throughout history, babies have slept beside their mothers. Ancient nomadic tribes surely didn’t have cribs to separate their children. Though this arrangement may lead to more nighttime wakings, it often provides more restful sleep than the constant back-and-forth to a crib.
A friend of my mother, originally from Japan, supports this notion. Although she raised her kids in the U.S., she co-slept with them, using a firm futon on the floor without excessive bedding. She observes that babies instinctively wake to nurse or sense their mothers nearby, making it easier to soothe them when they’re close. “When I slept with my kids,” she recalls, “they calmed down just from my heartbeat or warmth. Looking back, I hardly remember feeling exhausted from their nighttime awakenings.”
I see the value of sleep training—we live in a world with early morning meetings, after all. But I often question who these mothers are that manage to create and stick to a sleep training plan amidst such exhaustion. Are they the same ones who can actually sleep when the baby sleeps? (The notion of napping for 30 minutes here and there throughout the day is ridiculous—what adult can truly do that?)
I can strategize and plan to train my baby during the day, but once the clock strikes midnight, my best intentions crumble. I find myself torn between my desperate need for sleep and my instinct to respond to her cries. One night, I attempted a form of sleep training called Ferberizing, and while my baby eventually stopped crying, I felt utterly drained as a mother.
I’ve discussed these challenges with friends, and their experiences vary widely. Only one has truly mastered sleep training. Another’s baby sleeps soundly, but she believes it’s a fluke. One friend tried cry-it-out training, but all three of them ended up in tears. Another friend immediately admits to co-sleeping for the ease of breastfeeding. One medical professional friend nursed her child to sleep until nearly three years old, and now she sleeps well. She notes that while bed-sharing has risks, the data isn’t as clear-cut when there are no underlying conditions or unsafe behaviors.
Ultimately, I’m still uncertain about the right approach—whether to sleep train or not, when to respond to my baby’s nighttime needs, and when to let her be. For now, when she cries, I choose to heed her call. I could spend endless hours trying to soothe her with crying techniques, sound machines, or pacifiers. Instead, I opt to hold her and nurse her for about ten minutes every few hours. And when she’s particularly upset, I let her lie down next to me, where I see her body relax, and we both drift off to sleep, as if we are babies ourselves.
For more insights into parenting and related topics, check out this blog post.
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Summary:
The struggle of sleep training an infant is a common experience for many parents, with advice often conflicting and challenging to follow. While some parents find success with structured sleep training methods, others feel a strong instinct to respond to their baby’s cries, leading to a more nurturing approach. Cultural perspectives on infant sleep vary widely, with co-sleeping being a normal practice in many parts of the world. Ultimately, every family’s journey through sleepless nights is unique, and finding a balance between sleep training and instinctual parenting is an ongoing challenge.