In Conclusion

Someday I will probably come out of Fresco’s bedroom *not* squealing, “Oh my fucking god” and grinning like a madwoman, but it probably won’t be this week.

There has never in the history of the world been a child more ready, willing, and able to learn how to sleep than Fresco. And there has never in the history of the world been a parent more surprised that within one week he has gone from a terrible to a fantastic sleeper than me.

Well maybe Saint Aardvark. It might be a tie.

I was thinking a while back about the whole “if you talk about it, bad things will happen” parenting superstition that I subscribe to. You know: my baby hasn’t pooped all day / oh now I told the Internet, my baby won’t stop pooping. I realized something that is probably obvious to people more steeped in logic than me and that thing is that: by the time you feel comfortable mentioning some (usually child-related) thing that has changed, enough time has passed that the thing is about to end / change again anyway.

Example:
Your baby is napping. Your baby never naps. You sit around for a while (45 or 90 minutes, say) being amazed by this and then you decide to send your partner an email about the amazing napping baby. As soon as you hit “send” the baby wakes up.

Superstition:
The baby somehow KNOWS that you hit send and woke up just to spite you and make you look stupid. God I hate babies.

Reality:
The length of a baby’s nap is exactly as long as it takes you to relax enough to want to tell someone about it.

In the spirit of this, I waited well past the day when I felt comfortable telling the Internet that my baby was cured of his bad sleeping. I waited an extra four days. People, it has been SEVEN DAYS and the child reads some books with me, nurses a bit, pops a soother in, turns out his light and I put him in the crib and he lies down and doesn’t bother me for 11 hours.

Being me, I am working on making that 12 hours but you know.

First night: 1 hour 20 minutes of crying (we went in every 5 minutes to reassure but not pick up)
Second night: As-long-as-it-takes-me-to-make-a-gin-and-tonic of crying (hint: not very fucking long)
Third night: Cried till I closed the door.
Fourth night: No crying.

It’s a goddamn miracle is what it is.

I do feel like I have found religion. Partly because of the textbook response from a baby I thought was far from textbook and partly because I have had seven (7) nights of full, uninterrupted sleep.

And so, like any zealot, I am crowing. I already crowed over here at the Canada Moms blog * and now I am crowing here too.

Please don’t hate me because I am crowing.

Even if it all goes to hell tomorrow, I will have had this week, this glorious week of night time sleep and regular naps, gifts of minutes that add up to hours that I used to spend rocking and cajoling and nursing back to sleep and placing *just so* on the crib mattress. Yes, even if it all goes to hell tomorrow, I will have had a week without this huge boulder on my shoulders. The anxiety that comes from listening to the monitor in case the baby wakes up and you are back on duty, the total demoralization that comes from saying “tired” every time anyone asks you how you are and knowing you are a Dorothy Downer but being unable to say anything different because ow, you are, it is, the tired, one and the same, sorry but.

I am singing again like a bird trapped too long and finally free again in the shady jungle.

In fact, we all feel kind of just like this:

* Yes, I am still writing there. I had forgotten too. Then I remembered and it had been so long I panicked and solicited advice from people about whether I should just quit because obviously I don’t have it in me, etc. etc. and then I decided to wait to decide until after we did the sleep training and lo, behold, I was sleep deprived and depressed and now I am a GOLDEN GOD ™ and can conquer the world.