sleep training

02.27.17
2
My Shot Me circa 1984… When parenting was easy… Ever since finding out that I was pregnant in November, I’ve sort of had the iconic “Hamilton” song “My Shot,” in my head. It’s sort of become my mantra. In about an hour, I will be jumping on the phone with a sleep consultant (again) to try to figure out how to eradicate the sleep terror in our house that has existed for the last 17 months… Actually, if you’re including the little dude’s leader, (insert mugshot of older brother Jonah here), the issue of sleep, or lack thereof, is an issue I’ve had to deal with for 9 1/2 years. Needless to say, I’m fucking EXHAUSTED. Before co-sleeping ...Read More
What do you do when your kid won’t sleep? No, I mean WON’T. SLEEP. And I don’t mean a 5 month old who sleeps for 5 hours at a time and wakes up to feed, for the occasional 2 am or 6am feed. (Please, cry me a river). No. I mean, a 3 1/2 year old who can walk, talk and “Beautiful Mind,” him AND you out of any sleeping scenario. What. Do. You. Do.? Traditional sleep training doesn’t work because he doesn’t stay put. As stated, said child will waltz right out of room, plop down with me on the couch and ask me what song they’re singing ...Read More
Though bedtime has become a battle in my house as of late, there are actually a few sweet rituals that have little to no hysteria-three year-old-hostage stand-off- negotiation type qualities. One of those rituals happens to be a discussion about dreams… After I’ve told him a story about how houses are built in a factory run by five men named Bob, Steve, Joe, Fred, and Roger (don’t ask), I rock him in the chair and tell him to have sweet dreams. Of course, conversation ensues… J: What should I dream about, Mommy? Me: Tonight, you should dream about chocolate chips, rainbows and Giraffes who play the violin— J: No, no, no, Mommy. I’m ...Read More
Last night I slept on the floor. Yes. The floor. Next to Baby-Ko’s crib. In a fetal position. Using his changing pad as pillow, and my robe as a blanket, I managed to squeeze my arm through a slat so that my son, my very (possibly terrible) two year old son, could hold my hand, and eventually (pray god) fall the eff asleep. Two hours and one majorly numb hip later, I gently removed my hand from his grip, and literally crept out of the room cursing every creak my exhausted knees caused as I crawled down the hallway. For about a week now, I have broken every rule in THE sleep ...Read More