Last night — and, let’s be truthful, this morning — I felt like the worst father ever.
We’re trying to sleep-train Evan, see, which is something of a problem because the way our schedules work, he’s nocturnal like his mommy. Because he had 24-hour care in the NICU, maybe, or because we had to feed him so often early on, or because there’s just so much interesting stuff to do, Evan winds up awake a lot at night and then sleeping mornings with La.
His doctor doesn’t like this. And so, onto a sleep schedule we go.
As if it were that easy. Which brings us to last night, when La was teaching and I was in charge. The mission seemed simple enough: Put him to bed at 7:30. That gave me a couple of hours to write or pay bills or do anything that doesn’t involve holding a small child. (He’s in a needy phase, so he wants to be held all the time. He’s also in a learning phase, so while being held he turns his head back and forth, back and forth, goggling at everything around him, especially the dogs.) Sure, he might wake to eat at 10:30, but by the time La is home and can give him a boob.
Instead, the evening became Evan crying almost non-stop for an hour (he can’t self-soothe yet). He was just so angry I’d tried to put him to sleep that he wouldn’t even calm when I held him and rubbed his back.
I gave up at 8:30. I held him, watching some Nat Geo with him, watched him during tummy time, desperately hoped he’d have a post-crying crash and fall asleep. Nope. At 9, I put him in the crib at the foot of our bed, hoping the mobile would help him drift off. Nope. By 9:30, my own eyes were closing. Time to act.
I cradled Ev in his arms, put in a pacifier. Oh, how he cried. My spirits fell. I couldn’t handle another hour of that. It just hurts, you know?
But wait! His eyelids drooped. He kept crying, but I made shushing sounds and rocked him in my arms. Slowly — very slowly — the crying slowed, and slurred, and he dropped off. I rocked and shushed, unwilling to put him down until he was well and truly out.I was lucky; he slept. Emotionally drained, I slept too.
When I left the house at 5:20 this morning, I stopped in to see Ev, since moved to his own crib in his own room by La. I was worried he’d still be angry from the night before. Hell, I was still out of sorts. I had been angry, the night before. I had thought ungenerous things at the screaming creature in my arms. But no. He smiled, delighted: There’s that guy! With the hair I like to stare at! Hey, guy!
It broke my heart. How could he be so forgiving, so happy to see me? I would do better. I will do better.
