4:45 AM

Curled up in a tense ball on the edge of our bed, gripping the baby monitor, staring daggers with watery eyes at the baby who will do anything but sleep – stand up, sit down, slump over, scream, roll, repeat.

It’s a real roller coaster of emotions at this early hour. He stands (anguish), he sits (there’s hope), he topples over (I cautiously cheer!), and… he stands again. When he slumps over and is quiet for a moment, I chance placing the monitor back on the nightstand. Yet every time I do, it’s like he knows. Up he stands, crying again. So, I resume my position, clutching the monitor in the dark and sighing (not TOO loudly) as my husband slumbers peacefully.

During these dark times I come up with (crazy, or genius?) inventions. How about robot arm attachments for the crib that pry your baby’s death grip from the edge, scoop him up and lay him down. Over and over and over. Robots don’t get tired, and more importantly, don’t radiate an anxious desperation that babies can detect and exploit.

5:50 AM

He is asleep.

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I wrote this post in the early morning as the experience and feelings were fresh in my mind. It felt therapeutic to share my story, even without publishing it. Now, reflecting on the experience, I can acknowledge that Wyatt (and I) made some progress with sleep training. He isn’t sleeping through the night, but at least he put himself back to sleep and I didn’t intervene even though I desperately wanted to.