My son has never slept in his own bed. When we brought him home from the hospital we were determined to get him to sleep in his own crib, despite sharing a room with him.
The longest he spent in his crib asleep was 30 seconds, I counted.
I blamed myself, and so did friends. “You have to let them cry sometimes.” “Once you put them in your bed, they’ll never leave!”
We tried the “cry it out” method three times during his first year of life. It never worked. He did fall asleep on his own after 30 min of crying, but that never got any better. It got worse. When he reached 2 hours of crying I pulled the plug.
This issue was an extreme source of shame for me, despite starting to really enjoy co-sleeping (done in an extremely careful way, I was terrified of SIDS).
In all, my son’s first year of life was rife with blame, not only due to my own mindset, but also because I had no other parents my age with whom to talk. I delved into the terrible world of internet articles that always seem so authoritative, but really don’t know that much more than the average parent.
My daughter was born when my son was 2, and he still slept with us. We moved shortly thereafter to a house with multiple bedrooms. I waited on “sleep training” until we were somewhat settled. We started with his toddler mattress on the floor in our bedroom, and he was thrilled to have his own bed. Once we moved it to his own room, however, he got progressively worse at staying in it. I would sit on a metal chair in his room, nursing my daughter and waiting for him to fall asleep. He would sit, quietly, staring at the ceiling for four hours, every night for 2 weeks. The time shortened to only 1-2 hours after that, but still. I moved the chair slowly away from the bed, it took months of patience. Finally, I got the chair to the hallway, and that is when all hell broke loose. My son would cry and scream for hours while trying to fall asleep. I started losing it. I called multiple people at horrible hours, crying hysterically into the phone. All the hours of attempts, all the times I’d convinced myself it would finally work, and I would finally join the ranks of parents who weren’t failures, gone. Doubt came crashing down as I remembered watching an episode of “Super Nanny,” while pregnant with my son. How pathetic those parents were, how enabling and weak. I was one of them.
I yelled uncontrollably at my son, finally fleeing, when I realized how crazy I was acting, downstairs to be alone. Wrong move. He flipped. his. shit. Banshee-like screams issued up and down the hallway as he looked for me, crashing around in the dark. In desperation he butt-walked downstairs and ran into the living room where I was shaking on the couch.
So I gave up. Failure again.
Then I talked to my neighbor. Her kids are grown and she was fondly reminiscing about how they had needed her to rock them to sleep for a long time. “I never worried about it,” she said, “I figured, they won’t want me rocking them when they’re adults, so better enjoy it now.”
Huh.
Then I started to let myself feel a little bit better. I began to enjoy having two kids crammed into my bed every night (except on days my husband was off work from his night job, then it was a bit crowded). I realized that without them, I would be really lonely. I didn’t have to push them out of the nest just yet. I’m happy I got to enjoy snuggling with them, reading books, making shadow puppets on the ceiling, playing candy crush, and giggling, because last night something changed.
I took my now 3+ year old to his room, tucked him in his bed, and turned on his nightlight. I put my chair next to his bed and told him, “I will stay with you until you fall asleep, but then I’m going to leave. If you wake up in the night, you can come to Mommy’s room, ok?”
“OK!”
“Can I leave right now?”
“Yes!”
I thought, “Hmmm… yeah right, I’ve heard this before.”
I kissed him and said goodnight, and he was really cheerful about it. I walked out the door.
Nothing.
No crying, no desperation, no problems. Just the soft sounds of him playing to himself that I’d slept next to happily for the last few months.
My mind exploded.
There was no strategy, no parenting method, just a casual question, and a crazy, tentative kid who’d suddenly found some confidence.
That’s it. No gimmicks. Nothing.
He slept through the night too, partially because I resisted the urge to crash back into his room and yell, “WHAT THE FUCK??!”
I still can’t get over it, but here’s what I think I’ve learned:
Nothing in parenting is certain. People who write authoritative articles with “proven methods” have experienced somewhat similar situations often enough that they think they’ve got something that works. Guess what, it probably won’t. Unfortunately, the greatest thing we, as parents, can often rely on, is our gut-instinct. That means we have to daily engage with our children, learn about what they need, know them as well as we know ourselves. That, I think, is what makes a good parent.
It’s also something I need to work on. A lot.
I also have to keep in mind that tonight, when I put my son to bed, he may not want to sleep in his bed. I’ll encourage him, but I’m not going to force him, and I’m not going to feel bad about it either way.
I’ve got some new shadow puppets I’d like to try anyway.
shamefreemom 