Week 2 Day 1: Sleep training is for assholes

Okay. That's not fair. And maybe not even true (only time will tell). All I can say is that the past few days and nights have been really horrible. LAst night Gavin cried for almost 3 and a half hours between 1 and 4 a.m. Needless to say, Stacy and I didn't sleep during that period either. Today everyone was tired. Everyone was crabby. Especially the Gavin part of everybody. Poor dude. He was crying through naps left and right today. By the time STacy got home from work Gavin and I were both fried.

I don't know how anyone gets through the sleep training process without a) getting divorced or b) their children becoming wards of the state.

But maybe the worst is behind us. That's what the testimonials re: the book say ("the book" being Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child by Marc Weissbluth). One lady wrote a review on Amazon saying her kid cried for three hours the first night, an hour the second, and 20 minutes the third. After that it was smooth sailing. I hope that's the path we're on. But when you're listening to your kid cry for over three hours it's hard to stay sane. I mean, crying is supposed to get your ass moving as a parent. So to hear Gavin cry ("lustily" as the book says. Gross) for so long and not go to him, make it stop, make it all better is torture. And last night was so hard, but at least Stacy was there. Granted at times I had made her out to be the enemy. Her decisiveness wavering at the same time mine meant not that we were both under a lot of stress but that she was responsible for all of this and therefore she was forcing me to be a bad mom to my son. But then I put my head in her lap and she ran her fingers through my hair and massaged my scalp and I found myself dozing off in the din.

But not today. Today Stacy was at work. Gavin and I had to go it alone. I was sleep deprived. So was he. And he cried without fail every time I put him down. And there was no one to blame but me. And there was no one to comfort me. And I wasn't allowed to comfort him. By his last nap I was so over it. I was so ready to tell Stacy that sleep training was OVER and I was now in charge of our son's emotional well-being since she clearly didn't know what she was doing or care. Mind you, I may have been over reacting a bit. And we're still sleep training. So that should tell you something. Granted, I never told Stacy that I was thinking any of these things. I didn't really see how my lack of sleep derived ranting would help the situation.

I hear Gavin crying all of the time now. Even when he's not. I'm constantly on edge, listening for it. I want him so badly to sleep, not only so that I may sleep, but because I know it is what is good for him and that's the whole point of this godforsaken thing. But I hear his cries even when he's sitting in his exersaucer right across from me smiling his little crooked-lip smile. There's just this phantom crying constantly in my head. Maybe it isn't safe for me to be alone with him.

Do I need to mention that neither of us changed out of our pajamas today? Although I did take a shower. After all, the shower drowns out the cries at least for a little while. Exasperation-driven hygiene is pretty much the level I'm at right now.

Week One Day 5: Cry baby

Tonight's the night. Right this very minute my wife is putting Gavin to bed without a swaddler and without rocking him to sleep. And by rocking him to sleep I mean holding him vertically so he falls asleep with his head on my shoulder or on Stacy's chest (she's taller than me so can hold him lower. I am not explaining this well. Hey, I'm not a physicist). I'm not going to lie, I am feeling really nervous about this. Very anxious. I mean, I know it's for the best or whatever all of the sleep books we've read say. But I can't help but ask myself, "How did it come to this?" Over and over again the books (we read a LOT of books) told us not to establish a routine that will become unworkable once your baby is the size of a large Thanksgiving turkey. The Baby Whisperer's advice, "Start as you mean to go on" might as well be carved inside my brain. And yet every night for months we've rocked him to sleep to the same Carla Bruni CD. I'd say "Carla Bruni song" but it always takes more than one song. And sometimes it takes the entire CD. It's a good workout, but unless we create some kind of pulley system in his room to suspend him, it just can't go on.

My wife and I are not not bodybuilders. We are not huge people. Gavin will probably be taller and bigger than us by elementary school. I've heard my dad saying to Gavin, "One day you'll be big and strong and then you'll show them," them meaning us, me and Stacy. I'm not sure what this means. Is my father predicting that once Gavin is able to he will kick our asses? I can't help but recall the story my dad told me years ago about the mentally ill son who shot his parents in their eyes because they always said, "We're watching you." Did I mention that my dad is a criminologist and that he buys me murder books for Christmas?

In any case, waiting for Gavin to go to bed I'm sweating like a whore in church (an expression I learned from my father). Last night I was thinking this would be easy. After all, part of what stresses me out so much when he cries at night is that I often don't know what's wrong and I have to fix it. In this case I will know what's wrong, but have to let him fix it himself. This is going to be painful for all of us. I probably won't cry, but I guarantee that Stacy will.

By the way, today marks the end of Stay At Home Mama D Week One. Gavin is still alive (see above photo from today). I'm still alive. So far I'm ruling it a success.