Why we co-sleep

A night in the life of Taters, aged 18 months…

It’s uncanny; every night as I’m drifting off to sleep the sound of stirring in the room downstairs breaks the silence on the baby monitor. How does he know? Does he sense my brain waves changing? Is this the maternal bond they speak of and if so, why is he using it to torture me?

The shuffling builds to a few soft cries. My heart leaps, my stomach flips and my spirits crash. 

Again? Really?

I hold my breath, will he find the dummy in time and go back to sleep? Please, please, please, I’m so tired from doing this last night, I don’t think I can do this again! 

A loud cry bellows out, followed by another and another…

I throw back the quilt and swing my legs out of bed, I feel like stomping down the stairs but no, softly, softly I go, quietly into his room with a gentle reassuring “Ssshhh”

Back up dummy is located and quickly shoved in gob. The arms go up. Still “sshh-ing” but not speaking I stroke his arm and try to encourage him to go back to sleep. I’ve done my homework, I’ve read the books, I have to be as boring as possible, this is not play time, the aim is to get him to go back to sleep in his cot because there’s no way we’re getting into that whole bed sharing malarkey, no way siree. We’re not starting that!

Gritting the dummy between his teeth his cries become more insistent, those pudgy little arms are up again demanding to be cuddled.

With a sigh I scoop him up and we settle into the rocking chair. Oh I know I shouldn’t pick him up, but after spending night after night with him screaming blue murder at me as he lay in the cot, one night I relented and he immediately fell soundly asleep in my arms, so soundly just minutes later I was creeping out of the room and back in my own bed. Bliss! So from then on I changed tactics, naturally.

Yes he soon got wise to that one.

Now he dozes in my arms with one eye open, I stroke his cheek and his little eyes close in blissful relaxation. Until I stop and they spring right back open, or I continue too long and he gets bored and yes, they spring right back open.

So now I try every technique with a history of success. I stroke his arm, I stroke his hair, I shush, I stay silent and do nothing, I rock, I sit still, I sing, I hum. I put him back in his cot and do it all over again. 

I know, I know, I need to be consistent, that’s what the good books say!

Sometimes he torments me and lays silent and still for long enough to build my hopes up. In my head I’m already making my retreat back up the stairs, I might even allow myself to doze a little so that when I get back to bed in oh, 15 minutes or so? I can fall asleep more easily.

He knows what I’m thinking. It’s that maternal bond again. But he’s evil, and so he waits until I make it to the door and then, bam! He flips onto his back and commences to cry.

I look at the clock, it’s 11:30pm. I know how this goes, it’s been this way for months now. Worst case scenario I’ll be back in bed by 3:30am, he never lasts more than four hours. Then I’ll be up at 7:00am for work, well if I’m lucky and he doesn’t wake up at 6am. Can I get through a day at work on that little sleep? I keep having to!

And we’re back in the chair, only now he’s sitting up and bouncing in my lap like a little chimp, throwing me irresistibly cute smiles and teasing me by resting his head on my shoulder for brief moments before flashing me a cheeky, knowing grin as he sits back up. Yes, he’s evil my boy is.

He points to his cot, hoping I’m understanding his cues correctly I put him back in and gently stroke his back, shushing again. He sits up, then stands up. I quietly say “sit down”, he obeys. I quietly say “lay down”, he bends over and tries to do a head stand – he doesn’t quite have that down yet. Then he springs back up, grinning. The arms go up again. I lay him back down. He’s up again. I lay him back down. He starts to cry. I relent and we’re back in the rocking chair. I know, I know, I’m too soft on him!

As he alternates between playful chimp and quietly relaxing in my arms seemingly on the verge of sleep for hours, I alternate between calm and understanding mother, and frustrated and sleep deprived nutter. Unfortunately for me husband cannot help in case you’re wondering where he is in all this, Taters gets hysterical rather quickly if mummy does not come to him in the night. He steps in to give me time out if I really feel my temper boiling over, but this usually only extends the waking period even further.

So mostly I sit in my rocking chair in that quiet, dark room by myself, for hours…

Why don’t I walk out, leave him to cry it out like absolutely everyone tells me I should? I just can’t. Maybe one day I’ll feel like I have no other choice but right now I just can’t. It means a lot to me that he knows I will be there for him no matter what, that he never feels abandoned or rejected. So I can’t. I just can’t.

Instead I resolve to be firm. I will not pick him up. I will make being up in the middle of the night so dull he will decide to go back to sleep. It doesn’t take long for him to get pissed off with the new regime and soon he’s screaming blue murder at me and I feel like the biggest meanie in the world. Ever. But I have to be strong. This is for his own good too, kids need sleep. I started to crumble, am I damaging him doing this? Isn’t this just cry-it-out with me in the room? My now worried husband keeps coming into the room to check everything is okay. Is he sick? Should we give him Calpol? Call an ambulance? My god that kid can paddy! He sounds like a scalded dog!

Eventually he wears himself out, it’s been four hours but at last he is sleeping like a baby (stupid bloody phrase!) I crawl back to bed and spend the next day in a sleep-deprived haze until night comes around and it starts all over again…

A night in the life of Taters, aged 24 months.

11:30pm, Taters wakes up. I shake off the first thin veils of sleep and head downstairs. Locate dummy, shove in gob, stroke head… Nope, that’s not going to wash. Scoop Taters up, carry him upstairs and we all snuggle down and go to sleep in the big family bed… Don’t care… we’re sleeping…