“Is he sleeping through the night yet?”
Nope. My 8-month-old is far from sleeping all night long. In fact, the hours between sunset and sunrise feel like a marathon of wake-ups. And then comes the inevitable question: “Oh! Have you tried sleep training?”
From what I’ve gathered in these eight months of my little one’s life, “sleep training” seems to be a fancy term for “let him cry until he’s hoarse and flails his arms, all while you question your parenting skills.” Because let’s be honest, which loving mother would willingly let her child cry for so long? But who am I kidding?
I’ve reached a point where I’m tempted to start banging my head against the wall when my baby calls out for a snack at 4 a.m. for the third time that night. Eight months of this is exhausting. I’m losing my mind here. I’ve gone as far as pouring orange juice into my coffee instead of creamer. I can’t even tell if it’s day or night anymore. But you know what sounds even worse? The chaos of sleep training.
At least I know that when I enter my baby’s room and nurse him, he’ll calm down. The crying is temporary. With sleep training, I’ve heard all sorts of tales. Some babies settle after five minutes; others cry for 45 minutes, and some parents give up after what feels like forever.
The sound of my baby crying feels like a dagger to my heart. I’d take nails on a chalkboard over that any day. The wails of my child are enough to bring me to tears, sending me into a panic. I must silence that sound! I can tell myself it’s because I’m a compassionate mother, but let’s be real: it’s because my heart and every fiber of my being simply cannot handle it.
And then there’s my husband, sweet Mark, peacefully snoring beside me. How does he not wake up to that high-pitched wailing? Seriously. I sometimes pretend not to hear it, hoping he’ll jump into action. I wait and wait. Are you kidding me? How can he still be asleep? So there I am, waiting, while my baby screams from across the hall.
I check the clock, and what feels like an eternity turns out to be just four and a half minutes. The crying escalates, and I feel nauseous. Is he okay? Did he get his foot stuck in the crib? Will this cause lasting psychological damage? In 20 years, will a therapist blame his fear of abandonment on sleep training?
Finally, after what feels like the longest 13 minutes of my life, I rush to my son’s side, whipping out my breast like it’s a magic wand. Because at 4 a.m., my resilience is still tucked away in bed with Mark. My willpower has vanished, and my heart is in pieces. What’s one more sleepless night?
The nightmare of sleep training has defeated me again. Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow. Then again, I might not. Right now, I’m simply too tired to care.
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Summary:
In this candid reflection on the trials of sleep training, Lila shares her struggles with her 8-month-old son’s sleep habits. Despite the well-meaning advice from others, she finds herself overwhelmed and exhausted, ultimately choosing comfort over the challenges of sleep training. The emotional toll of her baby’s cries is palpable, leading her to question the effectiveness of popular sleep training methods.