My little girl is sleeping in her very own bedroom for the first time tonight. She is four years old. Some of you may be thinking, well it’s about time! some of you still are like me and transitioning. While pregnant with her I had very clear plans of how I was going to raise my child and like many first time mother’s they all went out the window, baby with the bathwater (ok maybe not the baby). First thing on my list was to sleep train. We had invested our time and effort in creating a lovely and spacious nursery for her, complete with a custom hand crafted mahogany stained rosewood (sheesham) crib. Like hell she wasn’t going to be sleeping in that. I would have if I could! I recall confidently telling my family of my ambitious plans of transitioning said baby to this beautiful sanctuary by her 6 month (at the latest of course). My mother-in-law gave me a knowing smile. I didn’t understand then, but I appreciate her letting me come to my own conclusion.
Well I showed everybody. My baby did end up sleeping in that crib, only the thing has wheels so it landed up next to my bed. My daughter has not left our side since. She transitioned all right; from the crib, to a corner of our bed, to completely taking over. Suffice to say, after hearing this tiny new born cry for ten minutes straight while my husband and I quietly crouched on the floor waiting it out, we knew right then that we were not sleep train material. So we joined the co-sleeping club.
Of course our sleep these last four years has been erratic to say the least. Our back has paid the price. Who knew the only ones stuck in continuous fetal position would be us, and not the baby. My earlobes have been poked, scratched and practically molested with all the caressing and pawing by my little one during bedtime. Some babies are comforted by their favourite blanky or pacifier. Mine has a thing for ears. As I sit here recollecting, one thing is for certain; waking up to the joy of a happy baby staring at you with such love and adoration clearly outweighs the sleepless terrorizing agony of the previous nights. And this was just yesterday.
I must admit I am delaying going into my own bedroom tonight. Sitting here in the living room, the limbo between my daughter’s room and ours, I am not sure how I feel. It will be great to finally have some privacy. My husband will certainly vouch for that. But it will be strange not having that little tush let one go in my face while kicking my husband in the groin in the middle of the night. Four years of weird sleep can make a Stockholm syndrome out of you. So I sit here in limbo, secretly hoping the door handle to her room will turn and my sleepy little girl will walk out calling for me.