The Crick In My Neck That Is My Child
Apparently, it wasn't the nightlight. After one successful night with her new nightlight, moon-like and glowing like a Lunesta butterfly, the little angel has woken up two nights in a row, earlier than ever before. Whereas before it was like 4 a.m., now it's 2, with a whole night stretched in front of me like so many lost hours.
I've been keeping a sleep log for her (although it doubles as one for me, since I certainly am not sleeping when she is not sleeping). At present count, she has slept through the night 15 out of the last 41 days, a 37% success rate. In that time, we have once again tried:
- Ferber - by the book. We tried this for two weeks. No response. Cried every night she was actually up for at least 45 minutes to two hours. Inexplicably slept some nights.
- Back rubbing. Inexplicably slept some nights.
- Sitting in her room, Supernanny style, closer and closer to the door. Same thing - awake for 45 minutes to two hours. Unfortunately, this was really painful because we had to be sitting up and watching to see if she fell asleep. Inexplicably slept some nights.
- Sleeping on the floor of her room - this is what we're on now. My neck feels like the days of crashing on a friend's futon after a late night at the bar. These days, though, I'm not even getting drunk or anything. Inexplicably slept some nights.
Usually, by around five, we give into the cries for "MIL! MIL!" and take her downstairs to the sofa. She falls asleep immediately and sleeps like a rock. A sweating, red-headed, 29-pounds-on-my-sternum rock.
And it's getting a little crowded on the couch.
We're going to get her a toddler bed near her second birthday. We have to come up with some money first, and put up a gate, and various other things. At this point it seems silly to try to fix her almost, because tomorrow we leave for my parents' house for the holiday, then we'll be back there a week later to celebrate New Year's in the Old Market with my high-school buddies (who will ditch their children on her parents and hang with us in a hotel). Then immediately after that, my beloved goes on a week-long business trip to St. Louis. There is probably no chance of "fixing" her in the next month with all this chaos.
So, the couch.
It's green. It's eight years old. Despite three professional cleanings, it smells of baby vomit, cat and sweat when you are face down in it's green-ness. It has a board under the cushions to prevent sagging. This board is ineffective. Yet, the couch. It seems to us the last bastion we are trying to protect is OUR BED. Is this worthwhile? Am I really doing anything different by using the couch instead of our bed?
I like to think so. But really, I don't know. I've now read eight different books on sleep, from Ferber to Sears to myriad other unknowns. There is one that I liked. It had a pull-out mantra for tired parents that contained sayings like "You are not a bad parent" and "You are not causing this night-waking." My best friend S. is not sure why I even feel guilty or would not pick her up at night, although to be fair, S. is childless and probably does not fully understand the continuity of the problem, the hours spent staring at the glowy-green Lunesta nightlight and wondering if I will ever touch the butterfly again.
Damn that butterfly. I want to eat it for dinner.