It was an incredibly long one, but Baby C stayed in his room all night. He actually slept soundly in his crib for about two hours (though not straight), which seemed like a small miracle in and of itself.
Yesterday, I spent the day trying to establish positive messages about his nursery, mainly that this is not a room where we go only when his diaper needs changing, and nor is his crib a place he gets placed only to have Mommy and Daddy suddenly disappear. He spent some quiet awake time in his crib while I wrote thank you notes for my showers, and the entire time, I would either talk to him if he was fussing, or Cute Husband and I would just have regular conversation in the room. It also helped to have Green Day playing on repeat. (I listened to their anthology non-stop while pregnant. I can’t help it. I love Green Day.)
So, last night, after a crying jag while on the phone with my mother, I was determined to get him to stay in his room for the night. Yes, there were some mishaps (two leaky diapers, lots of wet clothes, almost pooping on Mom), but all in all, we fared pretty well. Okay, he fared pretty well. Cute Husband took over at 5 this morning (I was to the point of exhaustion by then), but with little avail; I had to feed him at 7, anyway, and promptly fell asleep holding him. But I’m determined to get him sleeping in his crib. Maybe not through the night (he’s only a week old, after all), but at least sleeping in his crib consistently.
The thing is, and a major reason for my crying fit while talking to my own mother, I honestly thought it would be a lot easier to get him sleeping in his crib. How hard could it be, right? Except that his first night, his room still smelled like paint, so I couldn’t exactly leave him in there. Then the subsequent nights, I was so exhausted (and still sore), I was willing to do anything to get some sleep. And though I’m still not totally healed, I’m at least able to get out of bed a bit faster to tend to him – and that’s the biggest part of having him sleep in his own room, even if it is less than 50 paces from my bedside to his.
And I wondered why veteran moms looked at me like I was insane…