Dear Spencer,
Maybe 10? No more than 15.
That's the estimated number of times in the 301 nights we've spent together that you've "slept through the night".
That's the estimated number of times in the 301 nights we've spent together that you've "slept through the night".
I put quotation marks around those words because to some, sleeping through the night lends an impression that you went to bed at 8:00 PM and woke with the morning sun. In our world, sleeping through the night is any time you've slept for 5 or more continuous hours - the longest ever having been 8 at the most. Around these parts, we consider any night we only had to visit your room twice to be a roaring success.
Even at 10 months into this journey, we still have nights that include as many as 2 bottle feedings, 4 paci applications, and countless tip-toed returns back to our room. Some nights you win the battle altogether and end up in bed with us. No matter what the score ends up being, every night it's a nail-biting adventure in the baby vs. mommy & daddy sleep challenge.
If you note the time-stamp on this letter you'll see that tonight has been "one of those nights". I'm not really sure why I referred to it that way, because in reality "one of those nights" should probably be what I call the times where we actually sleep - especially since that number would account for less than 5%.
But I digress.
Tonight, Daddy supervised the first half of the stand-off from 3:30-4:15. You know, the part where we desperately try to fend off feeding you for as long as possible, whilst praying that tonight will be the night you miraculously learn to "self-soothe" like all those baby experts promise us you will.
After 45 minutes of giving it his best effort, I stepped in to cover Daddy in the final rounds of the battle - the defeatist part where we cave in, feed you a bottle, and change your diaper in desperation to get a couple of hours of sleep.
I settled in on the sofa, fed you the rest of your bottle, and then in my zombie-like state, I stumbled into your room, put you on the changing table, and changed your diaper. After I finished the routine that I can now do completely in the dark with my eyes closed, I scooped you up and gently laid you in your crib. You immediately started wailing.
Great. It's one of those nights.
Frustrated, I thought to myself how I totally should've "played asleep" and left Daddy to finish up the final round of the battle. I could be asleep right now, but instead, here I am. It's 4:30AM and I'm shushing and rocking a fussy, sleep-striking 23 pound, 10-month-old baby in my arms.
Wait. Is my baby really 10 months old? Holy crap, he is, or at least he will be in 2 days. Yikes. And 23 pounds? Does my 7 pound, 8 ounce baby really weigh that much?
I bounced you in my arms to confirm, and yes, you definitely weighed 23 pounds, possibly even 24. Suddenly, tears began to swell in my eyes. My selfish thoughts of longing for more sleep quickly transformed into realizations that soon this privilege would no longer be mine. In two short months, my baby would venture into toddlerhood. Then I would surely blink again and see my toddler turn into a 5-year-old, heading out the door to kindergarten.
How much does a 5-year old weigh? I'm not sure, but I know that at only 4 years old, there is no way I could be rocking Molly like this in my arms for this long. She'd break my back. Not to mention, this would be so beneath her. A big girl doesn't want to be rocked like a baby. And imagine how a boy will feel about that. If Molly didn't want to be rocked past the age of 3, that means Spencer will probably start denying me long before he turns...
Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a tiny little snore. In disbelief, I looked down and saw my sleep-striking baby peacefully sleeping in my arms.
I had won the battle.
Love,
Even at 10 months into this journey, we still have nights that include as many as 2 bottle feedings, 4 paci applications, and countless tip-toed returns back to our room. Some nights you win the battle altogether and end up in bed with us. No matter what the score ends up being, every night it's a nail-biting adventure in the baby vs. mommy & daddy sleep challenge.
If you note the time-stamp on this letter you'll see that tonight has been "one of those nights". I'm not really sure why I referred to it that way, because in reality "one of those nights" should probably be what I call the times where we actually sleep - especially since that number would account for less than 5%.
But I digress.
Tonight, Daddy supervised the first half of the stand-off from 3:30-4:15. You know, the part where we desperately try to fend off feeding you for as long as possible, whilst praying that tonight will be the night you miraculously learn to "self-soothe" like all those baby experts promise us you will.
After 45 minutes of giving it his best effort, I stepped in to cover Daddy in the final rounds of the battle - the defeatist part where we cave in, feed you a bottle, and change your diaper in desperation to get a couple of hours of sleep.
I settled in on the sofa, fed you the rest of your bottle, and then in my zombie-like state, I stumbled into your room, put you on the changing table, and changed your diaper. After I finished the routine that I can now do completely in the dark with my eyes closed, I scooped you up and gently laid you in your crib. You immediately started wailing.
Great. It's one of those nights.
Frustrated, I thought to myself how I totally should've "played asleep" and left Daddy to finish up the final round of the battle. I could be asleep right now, but instead, here I am. It's 4:30AM and I'm shushing and rocking a fussy, sleep-striking 23 pound, 10-month-old baby in my arms.
Wait. Is my baby really 10 months old? Holy crap, he is, or at least he will be in 2 days. Yikes. And 23 pounds? Does my 7 pound, 8 ounce baby really weigh that much?
I bounced you in my arms to confirm, and yes, you definitely weighed 23 pounds, possibly even 24. Suddenly, tears began to swell in my eyes. My selfish thoughts of longing for more sleep quickly transformed into realizations that soon this privilege would no longer be mine. In two short months, my baby would venture into toddlerhood. Then I would surely blink again and see my toddler turn into a 5-year-old, heading out the door to kindergarten.
How much does a 5-year old weigh? I'm not sure, but I know that at only 4 years old, there is no way I could be rocking Molly like this in my arms for this long. She'd break my back. Not to mention, this would be so beneath her. A big girl doesn't want to be rocked like a baby. And imagine how a boy will feel about that. If Molly didn't want to be rocked past the age of 3, that means Spencer will probably start denying me long before he turns...
Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a tiny little snore. In disbelief, I looked down and saw my sleep-striking baby peacefully sleeping in my arms.
I had won the battle.
Love,
Mommy
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