I wanted to come in here today and write about something controversial. You know, post something that would start a whole firestorm of comments, drive up traffic, cause an Instalanche. It would have contained all the hot-button issues: a lactating, circumcised, SAHD who likes a beer or two at his weekly poker night/playdate. The cards are secondary to the conversations about using Death Cab for Cutie or Dashboard Confessional for bedtime music and a great sale happening on-line at Izzy and Ash. Occasionally, when they aren't talking about Buggaboos or playgrounds in Park Slope, they take swipes at working dads and how they're doing a disservice to their children and how great it is that moms are now more involved with their children: Can you believe she changed the diaper?
But I guess that's been done to death.
Anyway, hear that? Those are angels singing. On high, even. Why, you ask? Because we have reclaimed our bed. I can, once again, lie in bed and pretend to make snow angels without cracking my son in the head. Soon, once we get Little Dubyette into her own crib, Mrs. Big Dubya and I might actually be able to get...get...get...get busy y'all. Huh? Because there's a baby in the room. Duh. I suffer from enough performance anxiety without throwing that into the mix.
Anyway, back in early January I wrote that Little Dub was suffering from night terrors/nightmares. I also mentioned the effect it was having on his mother and me since we caved and finally brought him into our bed to sleep. Well, about five or six weeks ago we decided it had to stop. He had to learn to like his own bed and understand bedtime and sleep...oh...sleeeeeep. It was time for tough love. Well, maybe not so tough as somewhat rigid. You know. With a little give. But tough. grunt, grunt So, we bucked up and said that he would have to stay in his bed; that this is the only way it would work.
Ah, best laid plans and all that. We did put him to bed, but like clockwork, he would wake up, start howling and scream for Moooommmmeeeee. One of us would go to his room, rub his back, hold his hand and soothe him back to sleep. Sometimes it involved actually sleeping on the floor while holding his hand through the slats of the crib. We are not 20 and neither one of us was drunk so this could be particularly painful in the morning. Eventually, we stopped staying. We opted to just let him cry it out. And, boy, did he. For more than a week.
First, it was scream for 15-20 minutes or more at bedtime and then silence. Then that dropped to 10-15 minutes. Then 5-10. Now, it's a couple of cries, a whimper and then la-la land...Land of Nod...Like Little Mac meeting Mr. Sandman. Sure, sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night, but instead of shrieks and cries, it's Uh-oh over and over again and then Zzzzzzzzzzzz.
Are we completely out of the woods on this front? Who knows? Something could happen that just blows this all to hell. For now, however, I enjoy being the king in a king-sized bed.
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