Sleep and babies! Like oil and water! Yes! That is what this post is about. Sleep and babies is such a mystery to me. Wait. Stop. It's a mystery to us all, is it not? Tell me you're the person who's got it figured out and I will call you a liar. Or a bitch. No, both.
My Mom told me I was the only one of her daughters (There are four of us, but you probably know that by now.) who just started sleeping through the night. What? Slap her. I just started sleeping through the night? Is that even a thing? No sleep training, no crying it out, I just slept through the night. Around four months old. I'd give my four-month old self a fist-pump on the daily if I could.
There should be some sort of rule that you get what you gave. You slept through the night at four months old, no questions asked, no whining and crying and gnashing of teeth. Then your baby will do the same. You were a total pissant of a teenager. Then so will your teenagers be. You were awesome? Your kids will be awesome. But there is no justice in this terrible world and the sweetest of people can still end up with the most horrible of teenagers. It's a big cosmic joke. The least funny joke. The universe is poking us in the ribs all the time suggesting we laugh with it. Out of my face, universe.
Back to sleep and babies. I've suggested here and on Twitter that Parker nurse a little less at night. Just a hint, really. He laughs at me. With a wave of his chubby little wrist, he tells me, "Mom, don't worry about scrambling up those eggs for my dinner. It's almost bed-time. The hours are upon us where I have open bar on your boobs. There, there. Don't trouble yourself. Put down the spatula." He's so polite.
I know there are a lot of theories on sleep and babies. Books upon books. My child will never learn how to sleep well on his own. My cosleeping child will be more well-adjusted than your child who didn't cosleep. Your sleeping-through-the-night child will be smarter than mine. My child will be in my room until he's ten and nursing until he's fifteen. Your child will be a brain surgeon and mine will be a gas station attendant. My child will never be independent. Your child will never be independent. Your child will not form the Oedipus complex that mine inevitably will and thus not try to kill your husband in his sleep.
I made most of them up.
But here's what I'll say: to each his own. I mean really. To each his own!
And for now, we're just doing our thing. (And occasionally being a little jealous of you fine folks whose babies slumber peacefully without waking for a drive-thru stop... or two, or three... at the 'ol milk bar.)
This post really declared nothing beyond the fact that babies and sleep are a mystery to me. We're right back where we started.
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