Sleep

My children are, until the age of 2 or so, horrible sleepers. It's entirely my fault - I nurse them to sleep, bring them into our bed, indulge, rock and pacify. I do not believe in crying it out, it is not my way. Because I am unwilling to do any consistent program to help them sleep, I forfeit any right to bitch about them not sleeping. I'm lazy, and not ashamed to admit it.

But every now and again, I decide TONIGHT'S THE NIGHT! and I spend a few hours of frustration with a non-sleeping baby before caving and taking them to bed with me. Last night was Henry's turn.

It started out well enough - he took a bath and read a book and nursed (to sleep), curled up in his bed and that was that. Until the dog woke him up.

"DAT!" he yells. I go in and pat his butt and he falls back asleep! Until Julia yelling wakes him up. "DAT!"

The butt patting does not work this time. He is laughing and crying and DAT!-ing until I finally pick him up and rock him and he falls back to sleep. Quietly, I tiptoe back to the crib and gently maneuver my not-very-tall body over the crib rail and lay him gingerly in the crib. Now all I have to do is step away from the crib and I'm home free.

Except the upper part of my meat apron is kind of hooked on the crib rail. I'm already on my tiptoes, so I can't lift up and unlatch my gut. I'm cursing getting a new couch instead of a tummy tuck. I slide down...plop. Now the rail is stuck under one ribcage, my hands are still under the baby, and I still have to clear the boobs. I decide to go for a clean sweep method, like pulling a cloth out from under a table full of dishes. I yank my hands out from under the baby while jumping back and the crib rail practically sheers one of my nipples right off.

"DAT!"

Okay. You know, if only I could lay down next to him, I know I could get him to sleep. Except he's in a crib, and I can't exactly crawl in the crib. Right?

I push on the crib mattress with my hand. Sturdy. Maybe...I'll just try getting one leg in and see if it feels like it will hold me. So I'm standing there in my nightie, with one leg slung over the crib rail and Henry is looking at me like "Bitch, you are crazy." I can not believe I am actually considering getting in the baby's crib. This is ridiculous. I pull my leg out and, because I am wearing my old woman floor length nightgown, my foot gets caught and I fall flat on my ass.

"DAT!"

You know, maybe we could just lay on the floor. So I spread out a blanket, get Henry out of the crib and settle down on the floor. He latches on to my remaining nipple and sighs contentedly. This might just work.

And then my back seizes up. Oh my God, I laid my geriatric ass on the floor and now I can't move. I have to get out of this room, I have to get help. But my boob is stuck in a vice grip and he's asleep! I'm going to be like James Franco in 127 Hours, except I'm going to have to cut off my nipple to get out of here. I get my finger in his mouth and break the suction, then slowly...carefully...roll onto my stomach and get on my hands and knees. I'm crawling towards the door, all the while doing these weird pelvic tilts that, while helping my back, undoubtedly make me look like an air-humping camel. Oh Lord, there's the door. Almost there...almost...

"DAT!"