Our Sleeping Through the Night Strategy, or lack thereof.

Since I mentioned that Adelyn slept through the night sans-Nap Nanny, two things have happened. One, she woke up for an hour last night to eat, so, again my theory that as soon as I brag about sleep it always comes back to my bite me in the ass, and, two, I learned a lot about Adelyn and the little person she's becoming.

We didn't really do anything definite, no concrete strategy. I followed some lovely readers' suggestions and looked into different techniques and routines, but as usual I got bored or frustrated and just stuck to what we were doing before. Which is a whole lot of whatever sort of felt right at the moment, be it letting her cry for a few minutes or rushing to comfort her. We had a basic rule--for the general fussing right after she's put down, and the generic "someone come entertaaaain me" middle of the night freak-out, we tried to wait ten minutes before intervening. And then we'd go in her room, rub her back, shush her, pick her up if the freak-out had reached inconsolability, and then we'd crawl back in bed and do this until it worked. Every ten minutes.

I think the main thing that changed as far as "sleep training" versus what we were doing before, back when we depended on the ultra-comfy Nap Nanny to do our nighttime parenting for us, is that we stopped rushing to Adelyn's side the second she woke up. Because before I did this, this overbearing, overreactive first-time-mom kind of thing. It's a strength and a weakness of my parenting. I worry too much about everything. We never let her full-on cry it out, but we slowly got our message across that unless something has gone wrong or she's truly scared or hungry, night time is for sleeping, period. And mommy and daddy are here to help but we are here to help you learn to sleep. I realized that most of the nighttime fits weren't due to anything but simple frustration. Frustration that her sleep crutch was gone, that something had changed and she had no say in it. And parents can help with the hunger, the soothing, the big and small fixes necessary throughout babyhood and life. But dealing with simple frustration--that's a personal battle, one that I see Adelyn conquering more and more each day.

Jason and I really leaned on each other, too. And for the millionth time I commend every single parent out there, because I don't know if I could do it. Not with an ounce of sanity intact, anyway. Jason and I took shifts, and we stuck to them. We alternated if one of us had to get up really early in the morning for something, and we picked up each other's slack if one of us really needed an extra hour or two. Jason is the most amazing father and parenting partner I could ever dream up. I'm lucky. (So is Adelyn.)

It took a week of us not rushing to her side for the message to sink in, and then the nighttime wakings went from three times, to two, to one, then she was just up for a quick bottle, and then for three nights in a row she slept straight through, for twelve glorious hours. And then last night teething reared its ugly, sleep-depriving head, and Highlands Teething Tablets saved the day. Er, night.

I'm not going to say our sleep troubles are over. Because they never are, I think. I learned my lesson about that a few months ago, after our three-month-marathon of sleeping through the night every single night without exception came to a screeching halt. There will be another battle to face. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow.

But one thing's for sure--Adelyn has learned to sleep without her Nap Nanny. And all it took was a little sleep training on her part--and mostly mine--that she would be okay without me magically appearing by her side every time she got a little frustrated.

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Progress, there and back.

Today, for the first time, Addy opened her mouth and let the food in. So far introducing solids has been a losing battle, for the poor food splattered and wasted all over the three of us and the living room, for me, who usually gets frustrated after ten minutes of forced-feeding and gives up, and for Addy, the reigning queen of the household, who never gets angrier than when she's doing something she doesn't want to do.

But today, her mouth opened to welcome the spoonful of mushed bananas, and almost half of the food made it into her mouth.

Progress.

And while one part of her baby story moves forward, another takes a giant step back.

I've only dabbled in sleep-training research up until this point, because we never really needed it. We'd have bad nights where I'd find myself googling MAKE MY BABY SLEEP at three a.m., and also nights like the one when I made an impulse purchase of The No Cry Sleep Solution on Amazon. But for the most part Adelyn's sleep would regulate itself before I had a chance to get too involved. (I read two chapters of that book before I put it down for something non-baby related.) Sometimes all the baby literature is just too much for me. The theories, the schedules, the opinions--the heated opinions. I don't want to follow a regimen. I don't have the energy to document every second of Adelyn's schedule for the professionals at Baby Center to consult. I don't have the strength to listen to Adelyn cry for long without doing something. Letting your baby cry until they finally fall asleep, without any intervention, is called "extinction." "Extinction crying."

No. No, and no. Nothing involving the word "extinction"--no matter how well some people swear it works--will be used in this house. (I'm not knocking anyone who does this, by the way. If there's one thing I've learned it's that every baby is different, and every mother is different, and not one is better than the other. But seriously, couldn't some pr-brained person find a better way to market the method than "extinction?")

We took the Nap Nanny away on Monday. Cold turkey. Comfy footed sleepers, beloved Sleep Sheep white noise maker, cuddling, lavender massage, vigorous bedtime guitar playing, lights out.

Jason and I approached it like preparing for battle. In shifts. One of us downstairs, one of us upstairs in bed, so that at least one of us was getting a chunk of sleep.

On Monday we put her to bed at 7:30. We took turns going in her room and comforting her at ten minute intervals, only picking her up when the crying turned into screams. We did this until about midnight (and, yes, she cried off and on for that long). Then I went to sleep, and Jason stood guard until three. When the alarm went off they were both asleep. I woke Jason up so he could go get in bed, and he told me she had never fallen asleep. He fed her, comforted her at least every ten minutes, picked her up, soothed her, sang to her, loved her.

She stayed asleep until five in the morning, and after a quick bottle slept for another twenty minutes.

Last night was a slight improvement. After about thirty minutes of comforted crying (going in the room every ten minutes), she slept until one. Then all it took was a few pats on the stomach and she slept again until four, then a quick fuss and up for the day at five.

We put her to bed fifteen minutes ago and she hasn't fallen asleep yet. I'm not sure if this post makes any sense at all, because my whole body is wrapped up in the sound of her crying over the monitor. I've already interrupted writing this twice to go upstairs and calm her down. And I haven't slept more than five hours since the Nap Nanny--the evil, evil, evil Nap Nanny--was recalled Monday morning.

Adelyn sleeps so much better on her stomach. I've been letting her do this for naps, when she's monitored, because she falls asleep with ease and wakes up happy. But I'm too scared to do it at night, when Jason and I are snoring and my maternal alarm is momentarily turned off. I even called Adelyn's doctor today to ask for her opinion, and she agreed: no nighttime sleeping on the stomach until she rolls into that position herself.

For now, I think I'll take a big swig out of my glass of wine. And maybe give The No Cry Sleep Solution another read, while I sit in a bubble bath and take a few more swigs.

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Nap Nanny Recalled; Adelyn Belle Forced to Sleep on Back Like a Big Girl.

Woke up to an e-mail from my mom alerting me to this, with a corresponding message of "omg."

Nap Nannies have been recalled, due to the tragic death of one infant and several other nearly-fatal incidents that have gone unnoticed.

Omg is right. Stuff like this makes you feel horrible, mostly for those innocent, surely heartbroken families but also because I know I've justified my concerns about the Nap Nanny for the sake of our sleep. I hate listening to Addy cry when I try to put her to bed without it. But a few hours of crying is far better than a lifetime of loss. (I will tell myself this, over and over, maybe I'll get it tattooed on my arm, when I'm trying to comfort her in the middle of the night.)

As soon as Adelyn wakes up from her nap (she already wasn't in the Nap Nanny, thank god) I'm going to take it out of her room and put it in the attic, far away from where I might look at it and think "maaaaybe one more night" after the crying starts to get to me. It's done. Finished. Finito. It will be stored far, far away until Adelyn can use it to prop herself and watch TV or read or listen to her baby iPod.

Now, if the jumperoo gets recalled--then this little family will be in big trouble.

(And by the way--after reading some of the comments on the original article, let me just say that my doctor suggested the Nap Nanny. And she's a wonderful doctor.)

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An Ode to the Nap Nanny (which will be used, it seems, until Adelyn can vote.)

A lot of things have happened since I've been back. Nothing big or life-altering. But all things that I'm sure will become a part of my parenting narrative, the early days, when each laugh is celebrated and each accident obsessed over.

On Friday I gave sleep training our first real try. We've been pretty lucky, and although I've googled "magical tricks to make my infant sleep through the night" more times than I can count, we never really had to do anything. We've had rough nights--maybe, like, a dozen or so--but for the most part she sleeps all the way through, from 7 p.m. until 6 a.m.-ish, often waking around 3 or 4 for a quick bottle but sometimes sleeping twelve hours without a peep.

While I was gone, she slept straight through the night every single time (why does it always happen that way, when you're not there?) except for the last night. Thursday. Jason woke up to screaming around 2 a.m. and when he went in to get soothe her Adelyn had positioned herself nearly out of the Nap Nanny. Her legs are so strong I'm surprised she's not running marathons already--she'd found her way completely out of the restraints and was kicking wildly to free herself from the Nap Nanny altogether.

My first night back I put my foot down and said no more Nap Nanny. We were done. I was so completely resolved with my decision and so determined to not give up until Adelyn was sleeping like a big girl every night without fail. And like magic she fell asleep around 8 flat on her back. And then woke up at 12. And one. Two. Three. Every time I would go in and pick her up, soothe her, feed her, comfort her, rock her, try again, repeat. And every time it would result in more screaming.

I wish I had a story about my expert solution or the trick that finally worked. I don't. Instead, I gave in around four a.m. and put her back in the Nap Nanny. And she slept until nine, and straight through the next night, and the next, and the next. Lesson learned. I have now adjusted the Nap Nanny's straps and have decided that Addy will be sleeping in it until she goes off to college. Then--and only then--will I put my foot down again and say no more Nap Nanny.

Since I've been back I've also finished my first day of actually working at home with a baby. I've done a lot of projects here and there since Adelyn was born, but this was the first day where I've had actual hours to accumulate and tasks that I'm getting paid to complete within a reasonable timeframe.

I've come to realize this from my first day: I don't know what I would do without that Jumperoo. Seriously. If Adelyn isn't hungry or tired there is nothing in this world that she loves more than jumping (especially for an audience, so I'm always sure to turn my computer toward her while I'm working).

And, oh, that Jumperoo has seen some stuff the past few days. On Saturday, my first full day back, after giving Adelyn two ounces of prune juice because she hadn't, you know, relieved herself in three days, I put her in the Jumperoo so I could, you know, relieve myself. (You already know where this is going.) Two minutes later, I hear her screaming in the other room, and I jump up from what I'm doing and run to find out what catastrophe has ensued. The first thing I notice is some dark green, horrid something all over my baby's feet. (At this point she's stopped crying and is just half-bouncing pitifully). I look closer and see a pile--no, a mound--on the floor beneath her. And all over her, and all over the Jumperoo, and once I pick her up it's all over me, as well. The only thing I can do is jump in the shower, baby in hand, and shout to Jason when I hear him come through the front door to "watch out for the Jumperoo!" (His response upon seeing it, which I heard despite being upstairs, in the shower with a crying baby: "Dear God!")

All of this is simply to say that I'm so happy to be home. I was gone for six days total. It felt like forever. And I won't be going anywhere for any length of time without my baby in tow for a long, long while. (Being a parent is sort of co-dependent like that. It goes both ways.)

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Growing Up.

Something is different here, in our house, our lives. I can't pinpoint exactly what it is. Maybe it's just that I've been sick the past few days, and often when you're sick and then suddenly not things look different, better, brighter. I said a couple of weeks ago that Adelyn has become much easier to handle. That's still true. But now she's not just easier. She's more adaptable. She's taken all three naps today in her crib. She's eaten a full bottle every three to four hours. She's been spitting up like there's no tomorrow but she's been completely content doing it.

I don't know if Adelyn's changing or if I am, if I've finally found some sort of stride as a mother, some way to define what my parenting is and isn't. I think I'm finally starting to let go and just be.

Yesterday I took Adelyn to her future babysitter's house. I majorly lucked out here--my best friend's sister, a woman I completely trust, love, and am in awe of--is going to watch Adelyn part-time when my job officially starts the week after next. I went to a meeting yesterday and took Adelyn over there for two hours, so we could "test the waters" and also make sure she wasn't completely crazy for agreeing to watch a baby in addition to her three other children.

Addy did great. When I walked in the door she was asleep on her babysitter's chest; the woman's own nine-month-old was happily scurrying across the floor. Her two-year-old and four-year-old were playing outside.

Before we left I asked her her tricks for getting the nine-month-old to nap--something I've been struggling with lately.

"I put her in her crib, kiss her, turn off the light and leave the room."

"Just like that?" I asked her. That's all it takes?

"When you have three kids, nap time is nap time."

Simple enough.

As far as mothers go, this is one that I would pay money to take advice from. She's just a natural. Not that she doesn't get irritated when her four year old son refuses to pick up after himself--because I don't idolize the sort of mothers who pretend to be immune to exasperation--but she just seems so comfortable in her role as nurturer and protector.

And it really got me thinking when I got home, about how much things must change when you've been there, done that. On your second child, third child, fourth child, are you still stressing about proper bedtime rituals and schedules or are you just doing what you know works, no frills, no incessant googling and reading up on the most mundane of topics?

So at Addy's next nap I gave it a shot. I took out the Nap Nanny. Casually kissed Addy's little cheek. Put her in her crib. Turned off the light and walked away.

The crying started within minutes, of course. I went back in, put my hand on her stomach, told her everything in her little world was just fine, and walked out.

After three rounds of this I gave in and brought back the Nap Nanny. Adelyn fell asleep in it almost instantaneously.

And since then she hasn't touched her swing. To me, this is a victory. Not that I've completely solved the Baby Sphinx, but still. And even more, I can't remember why I was so dead-set on getting rid of the Nap Nanny. I do these sort of things to myself all the time--as a mother and before--creating these complications that are all in my head. We bought the Nap Nanny because Addy likes the Nap Nanny. End of story.

Addy has gone from easier to borderline-easy, smiling all the time, napping when she needs to, crying when there's a definitive reason, entertaining herself long enough for me to do human, non-baby related tasks. A lot of it is her own growth, but a lot if it, I'm realizing, is mine, too.

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The Sleep Riddle.

Which came first--the chicken or the egg? The Nap Nanny or the baby who refuses to sleep laying flat? The swing or a baby who must be rocked to sleep?

Jason and I are gradually transitioning Adelyn out of her swing for naps and out of her Nap Nanny at bedtime. The goal is for Adelyn to be able to continue her normal day anywhere we go--in a hotel, at a babysitter's, at her grandparents'. To be able to fall asleep on her own, on a bed, in a pack n' play, on a blanket on the floor. Because the way it is right now--at least in our house, her grandparents have had more luck getting her to nap without the swing--Adelyn has a very particular way she likes to fall asleep. And it includes vigorous rocking during the day, and a bottle at night (and throughout the night, whenever she wakes up).

When I look back on our first days as parents I realize just how good those marketers are at their jobs. You know how the older generation is always marveling at how many things you need to have a baby these days? Mechanical aquariums in cribs, swings so big they look like a piece of furniture, computer devices that track the amount of times your baby wakes during the night and how long they cry each time. We only need these things because we buy these things. And trust me, I'm not making some grand proclamations of freeing myself from the baby-mania consumerism. I am a victim and I will continue to be a victim. Because it makes me happy to buy things that will make our lives with Addy easier or that look cute in her room.

If we'd never put her in the swing she never would have grown accustomed to it. If we'd never put her in the Nap Nanny because she fussed whenever she was flat on her back (I think she did have reflux in the beginning, but not anymore), she'd be a pro at sleeping on her back.

But now Addy's life is a riddle of gadgets that she both depends on and loves. She falls asleep instantly in her swing--because she knows it means nap time. She falls asleep easily at night while we feed her the last bottle--because she knows eating in her Nap Nanny means it's time to go to sleep. And when she wakes up throughout the night, as all babies do, she cries out for another bottle--because that's how she knows to fall asleep.

After five months Jason and I are beginning to work our way out of these dependencies. The first step was to put Adelyn's swing in her nursery so that she's not stirred when someone knocks on the door or Louie barks (why it took me five months to figure that one out, I'm not sure). This morning I successfully got Adelyn to fall asleep in her Nap Nanny for her first nap of the day, and she did it without a bottle and only a few minutes of fussing. It's been thirty minutes and there hasn't been a peep over the monitor.

Next, we'll retire the Nap Nanny to the attic, to be used as a lounger for her as a toddler or on our next child, or to give to a friend who's baby doesn't like sleeping on his or her back (thereby passing on the vicious cycle to someone else).

This weekend Addy stayed with her Janu and Pops and I asked them if they'd mind trying to get her to fall asleep flat on her back. I've seen them do this before, and they have a knack for it that I don't. The next morning we got the report--she slept soundly like that until one in the morning, then woke up and wanted to do nothing but play and stare at the full moon (of course, her Janu obliged. How could you not? It's nearly impossible to leave Addy to sleep when she's lying in her crib, arms and legs kicking wildly, squealing and giggling for you to pick her up). After that they put her in the Nap Nanny, because this is a guaranteed way to get her to sleep.

It all sounds so complicated and I realize that, at the heart of it, it's really not. Babies will sleep, eventually, when they need to. On your shoulder, on your bed, in your lap, in a swing, or flat on their back in a crib--the "proper" way. We--or, more so, me--make it even more complicated.

And now it's up to me to find our way out of the obstacle course that is falling asleep.

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