Operation: Sleep For God's Sake

Apparently I'm the only one in the house ready for sleep training. Well, I could potentially put the dogs on that list too, but really they're more complacent on the topic.

But Michael, The Bean and the cat (yes, the cat - he's a better hippie than me as he's a big supporter of co-sleeping) are far more skeptical about my attempts to instill Operation: Sleep For God's Sake.

This was going to take a lot of work. Up until now, The Bean has been (1) sleeping in the Pack-n-Play in our bedroom exclusively; (2) soothing via binky or feeding with help from me or Michael; and (3) not sleeping through the night.

I appointed myself Dictator of Sleeping about a week ago. For starters, Michael is a giant soft touch when it comes to matters involving The Bean. His general go-to response with her is 'Make It Stop Crying Right Now I Don't Care What It Takes.' Also, his sense of urgency around Operation: Sleep For God's Sake is far less pronounced than my own. Mainly because he's not the one waking up to soothe The Bean back to sleep.

Like any good dictator, I made up all my own rules for sleep training. Armed with minutes of internet research and a previously unproven intuition on such matters, I went into battle. Knowing I would need Michael's support to make my sleep training efforts succeed, I mapped out our plan: Do what I tell you to do.

The Battle of "Hey That Wasn't So Bad" - Day One
After our usual bedtime routine, The Bean started to drift to sleep in my arms. I waited until she was conked out to put her in the crib. [Why yes, I ignored all the advice telling me to put her in her crib when she's drowsy. Advice was intended to be ignored. When I put her down too soon, she gets all cocaine eyeball-y at me and then it takes another 5 hours to get her to sleep.]

She slept until 3 AM. I consider 8 hours of sleep a wild success. So when she started to fuss, I happily retrieved her and put her back in the Pack-n-Play because why be traumatic on the first night of sleep training? She's actually slept in her crib! In her room! For a long period of time!

The Battle of "You're Fired" - Day Two
The second night of sleep training was not so smooth. After about 20 minutes, The Bean started her fussing. As Dictator of Sleeping, I instructed Michael very carefully: "You are to go in there and not say a word. See if the binky has fallen out of her mouth and if so, so just pop it back in without talking to her - she'll fall right back asleep."

He marched off, the good soldier, and opened the door to the nursery, "Hi Baby! What are you fussing about?"

Ugh.

He called for reinforcements, "Babe, she looks really freaked out."

From Dictator to Mother in .4 seconds flat.

Day Two ended in an aborted mission. And Michael is no longer involved in sleep training [perhaps part of his greater master plan...touche, my friend].

The Battle of "Maybe I Can Make This Work" - Days Three through Six
3 AM became the magic time. The Bean would go down (most nights) without trouble, but at 3 AM she would wake up. 3 AM is a really inconvenient time to implement a sleep training routine. One's resolve to let an infant Cry It Out disappears when you could also just pop into the guest bedroom next to the nursery and lie down in bed together and GET SLEEP.

The Battle of "I Hate You 3 AM. Die. Die. Die." - Day Today
In an effort to not let 3 AM be the new black, I decided that if sleep training at 3 AM is what it takes, so be it.

3 AM struck and The Bean was awake. I went into her room and without speaking to her we do a quick feeding, change her diaper and get her back in the crib.

By 3:30 I was ready to throw in the towel. Maybe she just isn't ready for sleep training. She was not having any of this go back to sleep in the crib business. Not when the guest room was right.over.there.

So, I picked her up...

And she fell asleep nearly immediately, so I put her back in the crib. This is new! This is good! This doesn't last...

She wakes up at 4 AM...but I don't pick her up this time. Just put her binky in, adjust the blanket and stroke her head...she bought it!

We repeat at 5 AM. 5 minutes ago. She's still in her crib and back asleep...

Dictator of Sleeping is advancing. Stubborn infants beware.

There is a God

You say a lot of things when you're pregnant that you realize are utterly asinine once you are dealing with a real live bundle of baby parts.

Among my many lofty, uninformed "how to raise a perfect child" proclamations was: My child will NEVER use a pacifier.

Exhibit A:


Exhibit B:


Exhibit C:


Exhibit D:


You see what I'm getting at here.

My will to not use a pacifier dissolved less than 24 hours of birthing The Bean. At some point in those first 24 hours I was given a screaming child and, no matter what I did, the noise wouldn't stop. After trying all the tricks I knew and desperate for sleep, I freely admit I sent The Bean to the hospital nursery so I could take a nap and regroup.

Imagine my surprise when they rolled a completely docile child into my room two hours later for a feeding. Said child was peacefully staring at the world around her because there was a pacifier stuffed into her face making all the noise stop.

Yes please. I'll take ten.

Fast forward to yesterday.

Yesterday wasn't my day. The Bean has been a hellion lately--very likely a direct result of taking her to four different states in as many weeks. Naturally, on our first day back to the house I had roughly 403 errands to run.

Over the course of these excursions, the unthinkable happened. WE. LOST. THE. BINKY.

All the parents out there understand the gravity of this situation. All you non-parents, imagine you just lost the $100K payment you're supposed to make to a mob boss in twenty minutes.

No, that metaphor is not too extreme.

Oh sure, we have other binkys. But not THE binky. And I don't know how, but you can be damn sure she knows the difference.

Not having the time to retrace all our steps, I decide to roll my dice with the back up binky.

Our day did not go well.

Every time The Bean got fussy, I would pop the back up pacifier into her mouth. She would glare at me, giving me the "you and I both know this isn't the right binky, but I'll suck on it. Just know that I know."

This worked until 4:30.

4:30 is a fun time in our house these days. It's DEFCON A MILLION meltdown time. At 4:30 the screaming starts and there is no solution. It continues until 8 when I thank God for making screaming so exhausting for infants and she passes out for the night.

On this particular day, I ran through all the activities that turn The Bean's face-melting screams into mere spine-breaking cries. I was on the last known possible solution of changing her diaper when I looked out the window (which happens to have a clear view of the driveway).

There in the driveway, like a desert mirage taunting desperately tired and broken people, was THE binky.

I promise you, the binky was not there when we got home. I looked. This was clearly the work of a kind God who felt for me. Who saw that if the screams were to proceed another minute longer I would have shot myself in the face and left Bear to raise The Bean.

I never ran so fast in my life. Within 5 seconds, the binky had been retrieved, washed and plugged into The Bean's wailing mouth.

The next 40 seconds of silence was priceless. Literally. There's no telling how much I would've paid for those quiet seconds.

Oh sure, the wailing started right up again after those 40 seconds, but I felt like I had the upper hand now because at least we had the RIGHT binky.