We've been in Survival Mode with a sleep-challenged baby girl for 11 months now, and bed sharing has been the first dramatic improvement in my quality of life since we brought her home from the hospital. She sleeps. I sleep. We all sleep. She sleeps in 3-4 hour chunks and usually only gets up to eat, which is a gasp of fresh air after so many months of waking every 1-2 hours.
I read the sleep books and I did All The Things. I asked friends for advice. I prayed and cried and slogged through every day with bricks of exhaustion tied to my hands and feet and heart. And then I suggested to Les that we just shove our master bed against the wall and bring her into it. Oh, but the ramifications! We'll be stuck sleeping with her until she's 5 years old! She'll never learn to self soothe! Bad habits! Bad for our marriage! Bad! Doom dressed in cute little sheep pajamas.
But you know what? It is fantastic.
And you know what else? Les and I learned when I was pregnant and needed space that we both sleep better in separate beds, so no biggie there. Better sleep goes a long way towards happier marital partners.
And you know what else? It has helped, somehow, to soothe a deep, indescribable piece of the sadness of missing my mother in this season of Mothering.
When the sleep was really bad - I mean REALLY bad - a few months ago, we decided to try Cry it Out out of desperation. After 22 minutes of hearing my baby shriek from her bedroom, I wiped the tears from my own eyes and marched in and picked her up and decided that was not going to work.
I had been crying out for my mom at night, too. But the difference is, I could go to Pia.
Curling up into her warm little body at night has been a balm for me. I sometimes imagine all the mommas around the world, who, for millenia have snuggled up with their babies to sleep at night. I hear her breathe calmly and feel her chest rise and fall. I feel connected to my mom in this primal act of mothering.
I dreamed of my mom almost every night throughout the last few months of my pregnancy. The dreams were vivid, true-to-life-type dreams, the terrible kind that leave you disoriented for a few moments upon waking, wondering if you really did go over to your mom's house that day, and whether she really did make you a huge plate of Salami on White Bread sandwiches before flopping on the couch with you to watch Gilmore Girls and then "Romancing the Stone". In one particularly strange Mom dream, I received a box in the mail that contained a letter she had written on lettuce and spinach leaves, fastened together with a big binder clip. I called her for help deciphering the message, as the ink had bled during transit and the leaves were largely unreadable. Send me your interpretations of that one, if you have any suggestions!
And you know what else? Les and I learned when I was pregnant and needed space that we both sleep better in separate beds, so no biggie there. Better sleep goes a long way towards happier marital partners.
And you know what else? It has helped, somehow, to soothe a deep, indescribable piece of the sadness of missing my mother in this season of Mothering.
When the sleep was really bad - I mean REALLY bad - a few months ago, we decided to try Cry it Out out of desperation. After 22 minutes of hearing my baby shriek from her bedroom, I wiped the tears from my own eyes and marched in and picked her up and decided that was not going to work.
I had been crying out for my mom at night, too. But the difference is, I could go to Pia.
Curling up into her warm little body at night has been a balm for me. I sometimes imagine all the mommas around the world, who, for millenia have snuggled up with their babies to sleep at night. I hear her breathe calmly and feel her chest rise and fall. I feel connected to my mom in this primal act of mothering.
I dreamed of my mom almost every night throughout the last few months of my pregnancy. The dreams were vivid, true-to-life-type dreams, the terrible kind that leave you disoriented for a few moments upon waking, wondering if you really did go over to your mom's house that day, and whether she really did make you a huge plate of Salami on White Bread sandwiches before flopping on the couch with you to watch Gilmore Girls and then "Romancing the Stone". In one particularly strange Mom dream, I received a box in the mail that contained a letter she had written on lettuce and spinach leaves, fastened together with a big binder clip. I called her for help deciphering the message, as the ink had bled during transit and the leaves were largely unreadable. Send me your interpretations of that one, if you have any suggestions!
Most of the dreams were jumbles of memories mixed with run of the mill dashed hopes and scenes of losses I already grieved: mom helping me decorate the nursery, mom talking through my baby questions with me, mom giving suggestions for 3rd trimester pregnancy coping skills, mom coming to the hospital to meet the baby. Mom singing to the baby while rocking her to sleep.
My mom's warm, smooth, unfussy, beautiful voice started to keep me up at night. I would lie awake staring at the ceiling, tears puddling in my ears as I strained to hear her sing the songs she used to sing to us when we were small. I needed to remember every warble, every verse. In those sleepless nights, I made a list of the Unsingable Songs. The songs I knew I could not sing to Baby Girl without crying. Ugly crying. Who wants to Ugly Cry lullabies to their baby? I made a second list: Songs I Know Mom Never Sang to Us. These have become my lullaby standards. Pia drifts off to sleep to the sounds of Lyle Lovett, Indigo Girls, a few odd show tunes, select U2 choruses, and some hymns that have no particular Mom Memories associated with them.
In the book "Parentless Parents: How the Loss of our Mothers and Fathers Impacts the Way We Raise Our Children", author Allison Gilbert notes that in her surveys and interviews with parents who had lost both parents before they had children or while their own children were still young, many parents confirmed that they are hyper aware of their own mortality, and that thoughts of leaving their children mother or fatherless are always simmering in the back of their minds. This often leads parents to either a) keep their kiddos at a bit of an arm's length, emotionally, and begin instilling independence at a very early age or b) glom onto their kids and lean towards over protection and fearful parenting. I'm paraphrasing, of course. The book is excellent. Definitely recommend it to anyone you know who may benefit. But it has made me wonder whether my "accidental" attachment parenting has had less to do with Pia's disposition and more to do with my heartache. I do not want to be a fearful parent. I did not set out to bedshare. We were all set with a crib. I didn't think I would eschew the stroller and just wear Pia in a baby carrier everywhere. It is just so much more convenient and portable! Breastfeeding was always the plan, and, frankly, I'm kinda ready to be done with that. But it has been much better and sweeter and funnier than I could have imagined. If she had weaned early, or if I had switched to formula in a desperate attempt to get her to sleep through the night, I never would have known the silly joy of my sweet baby girl blowing huge, horrific fart sounds all over my boobs in between peals of her own laughter.
If Pia had slept through the night, I never would have brought her into bed with me. I never would have tucked her little body into my armpit. I never would have fallen asleep next to her while humming Simon and Garfunkel, and hearing my mom's voice in my ears.
In the book "Parentless Parents: How the Loss of our Mothers and Fathers Impacts the Way We Raise Our Children", author Allison Gilbert notes that in her surveys and interviews with parents who had lost both parents before they had children or while their own children were still young, many parents confirmed that they are hyper aware of their own mortality, and that thoughts of leaving their children mother or fatherless are always simmering in the back of their minds. This often leads parents to either a) keep their kiddos at a bit of an arm's length, emotionally, and begin instilling independence at a very early age or b) glom onto their kids and lean towards over protection and fearful parenting. I'm paraphrasing, of course. The book is excellent. Definitely recommend it to anyone you know who may benefit. But it has made me wonder whether my "accidental" attachment parenting has had less to do with Pia's disposition and more to do with my heartache. I do not want to be a fearful parent. I did not set out to bedshare. We were all set with a crib. I didn't think I would eschew the stroller and just wear Pia in a baby carrier everywhere. It is just so much more convenient and portable! Breastfeeding was always the plan, and, frankly, I'm kinda ready to be done with that. But it has been much better and sweeter and funnier than I could have imagined. If she had weaned early, or if I had switched to formula in a desperate attempt to get her to sleep through the night, I never would have known the silly joy of my sweet baby girl blowing huge, horrific fart sounds all over my boobs in between peals of her own laughter.
If Pia had slept through the night, I never would have brought her into bed with me. I never would have tucked her little body into my armpit. I never would have fallen asleep next to her while humming Simon and Garfunkel, and hearing my mom's voice in my ears.
so so beautiful friend. My heart aches for you...in joy and in mourning. And as always I learn so much form you. Enjoy that armpit baby girl. ANd her noises are THE BEST. Happy Bday to Mom!!
ReplyDeletelovely post - we have co slept since day one. sal is almost 5 and still crawls in to bed with us at 3 am and we do not care! i love waking curled up will the two people i love...
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