Oh, sleep. I don't talk about it much, partly because there's never anything good to report, but mostly because we can't talk about it. Talking about sleep (and who's doing it well) is pretty much tantamount to undoing whatever magic spell is at work.
Kevin and I have had a few conversations along these lines:
me: We were able to do a lot this morning. Thomas had a good nap.
Kevin: Yes, it seems like -
me, interrupting: DON'T SAY IT!
We can speak of sleep in terms of facts (e.g. so-and-so slept for X minutes, woke X times last night), but once we try to hypothesize or make generalizations or, hope against hope, look for a light at the end of the tunnel, POOF! All of those steps forward are erased by seventeen giant steps back.
So I will say this about sleep: we had one cry-it-out baby. We feel, to this day, immense guilt about letting Peter cry himself to sleep so many nights. (We also, very selfishly, think about how much more sleep we would have had if we'd let go of the crazy notions of babies + sleep that pervade society. I covet that lost sleep.) We also see, anecdotally, how CIO did not work, not at all, and probably made Peter's sleep even worse.
We had two co-sleeping, parent-through-the-night babies. Yes, they wake all night long. Yes, they wake several times at night. No, it doesn't really bother me, because the alternative - a tiny baby wailing in the next room, or, worse, calling for me - is terrifying. Also, sad. Also, really, practically, exhausting. I remember listening to Peter's crying, trying to figure out if this pause was it - was the moment he'd finally give in to sleep. Nope. It never was.
Now, though, I do think there's a light at the end of the tunnel. For realsies, as the kiddos would say. I can see Peter's sleep improving; Lucy wakes occasionally, especially if she's thirsty or has a bad dream; and Thomas's naps have been better of late.
Of course saying this means I'm committing that crime of speaking of that which shall not be mentioned, but I'd also like Peter and Lucy and Thomas to know, in the decades to come, that Peter wakes every single night and Kevin comes in to help him back to bed. That when Lucy wakes Kevin's always there with a cup of water or a comforting "shhhh." That I'm there for Thomas when he wakes (and wakes and wakes and wakes).
I'd like Peter and Lucy and Thomas to know, in the decades to come, that even though Kevin and I made hundreds of mistakes as parents, and lost our patience, and spoke with unkindness, that we also tried very, very hard to help these little ones feel safe and secure and loved.
*Crazy baby dance parties excepted.
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