Early Sunday morning, Edith got up hollering at 4am and before I thought about it, I just pulled her into bed with me. She tried very very hard to go back to sleep, but she couldn’t, and so we were basically up from then.
I was worried that I’d set a precedent, and sure enough she woke up at 2:30 last night. This time I made her stay in her bed, but I sat by her and rubbed her back a bit, and at one point I gave her half a bottle. She was enraged, and stayed up more or less until I decided it was wake-up time at 5:30. She threw her pacifiers out of the bed a lot also, and I retrieved them.
Sleep regressions are hard because when you go months with your kid sleeping through the night, you get so smug. “I’ve figured this out,” I think to myself, smugly. “It took awhile, sure, but it wasn’t so hard. And now we’re all set!” I know that’s not true and I try to remind myself of that when I’m feeling self-satisfied, but every time, I really think the regressions are done. I know they aren’t done till she’s a teenager; you don’t have to tell me that.
I’m finding it harder to hold out against her as she gets older. I don’t know why — you’d think it would be the other way around because she’s tougher and more independent now, and easier to communicate with. But I did fall asleep reading a book about a woman who’d been fucked up by her emotionally withholding mother who would never let her get in bed with her, so that might have been part of it.
Accismus 