It seems like there’s always that one mom who swears her baby started sleeping through the night at just six weeks old. You genuinely want to be happy for her, but let’s face it, your own sleep-deprived state makes that a challenge.
She offers you some so-called “magic” sleep-training tips, and doubts begin to creep in. Maybe you’re just destined to be an inadequate parent? You resolve to implement these strategies and turn things around.
As night falls, you give yourself a motivational pep talk. Tonight, you’ll be firm. You’re aiming for seven uninterrupted hours of sleep. If it means picking your child up and putting him back in his bed a thousand times, so be it.
You lay him down, only for him to erupt into tears. You try to soothe him, rocking and shushing as you pick him up and set him back down until your back feels like it’s about to give out. You even resort to patting his back in a counter-clockwise motion while repeating a calming mantra you picked up from a yoga class. For nearly 76 minutes, you let a lullaby play on repeat, willing him to drift off while you desperately hold back the urge to use the bathroom.
You find yourself bouncing around the room like a weary rabbit, which seems to entertain him. Slowly, he begins to calm down, and a flicker of hope ignites within you. Maybe you’ve just been too lax with the sleep routine. You carefully place him in bed and tiptoe out of the room.
As you reach your own bed, a wave of relief washes over you. It’s been ages since you could stretch out without being drenched by an errant sippy cup. You finally drift into a deep sleep.
But two hours later, the rustling begins. Following the advice of other moms, you attempt to ignore it, hoping it will pass. Yet, the rustling escalates into full-blown crying.
At first, you cling to the hope that the crying will fade. Your thighs still ache from the workout you put in getting him to sleep. Just as you think he might be settling down, the wails turn into a cacophony you can’t ignore. You surrender.
Walking into his room, you’re met with laughter. He knows he’s got you wrapped around his tiny fingers. You feel foolish for even trying to resist him. Now, he wants to play, and your resolve crumbles.
You start to question where it all went wrong. The other moms made it sound so simple. You resign yourself to the idea that restful nights may be a distant memory. It’s unfair, and you can’t help but resent those seemingly perfect moms.
For what feels like half the night, you entertain him with snacks—12 different options from the fridge, which you let him sample. You’re so exhausted that you convince yourself ketchup is a suitable bedtime snack.
After what feels like an eternity, he finally yawns. Hope surges through you. Maybe he will finally sleep. You carry him to your bed, where he has claimed his territory. He stretches out on your pillow while you curl into a tiny ball around him. Miraculously, he lies down without protest and closes his eyes. Is this really happening?
You glance at the clock, realizing you still have three hours before morning. You vow to dodge any conversation about sleep with other moms in the future. When he becomes a teenager, you’ll wake him up every morning without fail—or maybe you’ll even look into options for intravenous caffeine delivery. As he snuggles closer, his tiny hand resting on your face, your heart melts. You remember just how adorable he can be, and you drift off into a crowded yet peaceful sleep.
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