After having four infants one would assume the night-time routines are a snap for me.
My first, beloved child, whom I had at the young age of nineteen, was a breeze. He was pretty easy and we eventually fell into a comfortable routine…….at least looking back seventeen years ago it seems this way. Not to mention I didn’t own a monitor so he was probably wailing his little lungs away during my sweet oblivious sleep…AND I was NINETEEN- what did I know?
My second child is a little vague for me. Could be because my mother lived with me for a short time during her infancy and helped at night quite a bit. Humm..matter of fact, could be she took ALL the night-time feedings and issues for a while. Ya, that is probably why my second also seemed pretty easy to me. Ten years ago.
My third. Demon spawn. She came roaring into my world, my world, and not only didn’t sleep, she didn’t like to be rocked or held. WHAT?! What infant doesn’t like to be rocked or held? MINE. We had a joyous eight weeks of torturous hell with the walk-rock (you know, when you walk and bounce until your arms are on fire and your eyes are watering because you keep staring at a hole in the wall, or the tv, wishing either would suck you into it away from the madness), with the pick up, put down, pick up, put down routine TWENTY FOUR HOURS A DAY, that I finally snapped and ferberized her (what ever the spelling is for that dude that believes we should let them scream till they burst). Well, I did. And after three nights of absolute sheer torment, it worked. Three nights of my crying, her crying and my husband pleading for us both to shut up. She is two now and sleeps like a champ. I am scarred for life from my three night experience.