ONE HOUR.

One hour is exactly how long I made it on my first attempt at night weaning before I gave up and nursed the baby. Although by that point he was so far gone into angry exhausted screaming mode that even a few minutes at the boob didn’t help and he kept whimpering long after he was sound asleep. It was sucky and awful. I certainly didn’t get any more sleep than I normally do and poor E got significantly less. But even so, I think it was a success.

Up until now I have never been interested in what the experts call “sleep training”. I believe forcing a baby to self-sooth and sleep through the night at a young age is a modern Western ideal and biologically unreasonable at only a few months old. But you know what else is unreasonable? Nine months of being exhausted. Nine months of being the only person doing the night feedings. NINE MONTHS of feeding on demand despite my nagging suspicion he’s not actually hungry at all. Even the anti-sleep trainers all end their advice with the little disclaimer that being a good parent is really more important than how you put a baby to bed. Nothing about spending all my night feedings resisting the overwhelming urge to just shake the baby off, leave the room and walk out of the house forever makes me a good parent. Being too tired during the day to play does not make me a good parent. Using up every ounce of patience in my body before 6 am and spending the rest of my day seconds away from yelling does not make me a good parent. It also makes me a lousy wife and partner, especially because my other nighttime routine is thinking over and over how much I resent being the only one who feeds the baby and therefor the only one who gets up with the baby. The little ball of resentment and anger is like a popcorn kernel in my tooth that I focus on and pick at and poke until it’s sore and red and all I can think about. Getting divorced simply because I’m breastfeeding definitely does not make me a good parent. And so, night weaning has begun.

Baby Evan has always been a pretty good sleeper. He transitioned easily from co-sleeping to the crib and from napping in the swing to napping in his room. Our established night time routine of bath, boob, book and bed is successful and usually all he needs to fall asleep is a few minutes of cuddling and rocking. He often wakes up, finds his blanky, rolls over and goes back to sleep on his own without needing to be soothed. But the night feedings are frequent and constant, every 2 or 3 hours all night long, mostly due to habit not hunger. My ultimate goal is to get down to ZERO feedings between 7 pm and 7 am but for the next few months I’d settle for one 2 am feeding and someone else to rock him back to sleep every few nights. Sunday was our first try and it went like this: Baby goes to bed, Baby wakes up wanting to eat, E tries to get him back to sleep with absolutely no luck, I try to get him back to sleep with no luck, consider letting him cry it out for a few minutes but can’t bring ourselves to do it, give up and let Baby nurse for less than 90 seconds, baby passes out, wakes up again, cries for two minutes, passes out again.

The whole thing took an hour and a half but then he slept from 1 am to almost 7 am without a sound. He woke up the same happy, smiley baby he does on the nights we don’t have an EPIC BATTLE and has been fine all day. No signs of permanent psycological or emotional damage. I think he might be nursing a little more than usual – or maybe I’m just offering more often because I’m afraid I starved him last night – but that just means he’ll be less hungry tonight.

I’m giving it a week. A week to get to a point where I can wake up rested and refreshed and feeling like a normal person instead of a grumpy monster. If he’s still not even close to a full night’s sleep by then I’ll take a break and go back to surviving on naps and caffeine for a while until I can work up the energy to try again. Or maybe I’ll just be exhausted for the next five years. That sounds like fun too.

Yeah, I’m going to talk about boobs again. Deal.

Happy Face :)

I love breastfeeding. It’s totally amazing that if you combine my pregnancy with the months of exclusive (really really exclusive) breastfeeding, I’ve kept this baby alive with just my body for 17 months. I’m practically a superhero, although thank God I don’t have a spandex outfit. I’ve given my baby the best start possible and he (and I) will both be healthier for it. I’ve saved an enormous amount of money by not buying any formula and an enormous amount of time not sterilizing, heating and preparing bottles. Nothing beats snuggling with a warm sleepy infant on a cold morning and starting my day feeling absolutely attached to my baby. I feel like I repeat all this stuff so many times a day I might as well get it tattooed on my forehead. Or at least embroidered on a pillow. A pillow I can throw off a cliff.

Sad Face :(

I’m so so so tired all the time from getting up at night to nurse this baby. Now that he’s mobile he’s like a tiny Michael Phelps – his body burns calories faster than he can get them in and he needs to eat fourteen times a day. Not to mention possibly suffering from a case of the munchies. When I committed to breastfeeding, I was relieved to learn “extended nursing” usually only involved a couple of feedings a day and not the round-the-clock sessions of a newborn. Unfortunately Baby Evan didn’t get that memo. My nipples feel like they’re going to fall (not from pain, just from pulling) and it only gets worse when he’s teething – which he’s doing AGAIN. This time it’s the top teeth, which means in a couple days he’ll be able to bite with the same power as an average sized dog. Think about how much that would hurt. And despite MY anytime, anywhere approach to breastfeeding the baby refuses to eat if there are people, noise, colors, sounds, dogs, cats, other babies, music, or toys within 100 feet. If I don’t plan for quiet time at home he goes all day without eating and the nighttime feedings go from 2 or 3 to 4 or 5. At this point, I couldn’t give up on breastfeeding even if I wanted to. The battle we have every time I try to give him a bottle or cup is EPIC and his refusal could easily outlast my will to force one on him. Every time I mention my frustration I’m told “don’t worry, he’ll grow out of it” and that 8 months is a totally normal age to still be nursing exclusively. THANKS FOR NOTHING advice givers. Why don’t you come over here and breastfeed this baby at 3 am? For 8 months in a row? Oh, I’m sorry, you’re too busy sleeping at 3 am? THEN SHUT YOUR PIEHOLE. Sorry, sleep deprivation is making me cranky. And complaining about it makes me feel a little better. Especially complaining about it in LARGE CAPITAL LETTERS. LOUD NOISES.

One of the developmental milestones I have been the most excited to reach is parental preference, when the baby starts to love E and I better than everyone else. I mean, it’s hard to spend the morning wiping poop off your child, yourself, the crib and the walls and still get the same smile as the lady in the grocery store who calls him “such a happy little girl”. I am your sole source of food child, and don’t you forget it. I want some love!

Unfortunately, that mindset seems to have backfired. Baby Evan definitely remembers where his food comes from. He remembers at night, when he refuses to unlatch even in his sleep. He remembers when I’m carrying him around and he starts patting my shirt to make sure he’s favorite things in the world are still there. He remembers when we’re playing on the floor and he launches himself right at my cleavage, head first. It seems that his parental preference isn’t for ME as much as it is for my boobs.

One of the things I love about breastfeeding is that it’s an automatic boo-boo fixer, sleeping pill, tantrum distraction and leisure activity in one convenient package. Now that head bumps and face plants are a part of daily life the ability to sooth Baby Evan’s tears on demand is more important than ever. But apparently while I was holding him in my arms and kissing his head and singing him little songs, all he noticed was the comfy pillows. So much for making his lovey a blanket or one of the dozens of cute and cuddly stuffed animals collecting dust in his room – he’s already picked out his two favorite things. I just hope he knows he won’t be taking them to college.

While E was out of town for a couple nights, I decided it was time to make a few adjustments to the baby’s nighttime schedule. (Changes go a lot better when I implement them myself and declare a new Baby Law.) As much as I loved our cuddles and the ease of nursing the baby without getting out of bed, this 7 month old little monster child is NOT the sweet little baby who snuggles. This one kicks and squirms and thrashes and the other night he stuck his fingers up my nose, Three Stooges style. Let me tell you, that is at the top of the list of uncomfortable ways to wake up, right behind with a car on top of you.

So I sat Baby Evan down and explained it was time for him to sleep in his own room, he agreed, and we lived happily ever after. AHAHAHAHA if only babies were that easy, I’d have a dozen more. The first thing I did was move our entire bedtime routine upstairs – bath in the bathtub instead of the sink, nursing in the nursery instead of on the couch. I also decided it was time to do away with the swaddle, in the hopes that he wouldn’t wake up trying to break free. And the third thing I did was drag out the Baby Go To Sleep music cd I tried months ago but never really seemed to work. I’ve also been trying to convince Baby Evan that the blue blanket my mother-in-law knit for him is his lovie (or as I called mine, Favorite Blankie) so it can take over some of the comforting during the night.

Pretty much the only thing my The Baby Books agree on is that infant sleep cycles are only 90 minutes, and ever hour and a half babies wake, check their surroundings and resettle. The “resettle” part is the key word in that sentence, because according to The Books, I have created some Bad Habits with my baby and breaking those Bad Habits means anything from 4 nights of screaming to 8 weeks of sleep deprivation to three more years of getting kicked in the kidneys all night. I have not allowed my baby to learn to resettle – because of the swaddle and the rocking or nursing to sleep – and now I must pay the price. Luckily for me, my baby didn’t read The Books and has no idea he’s supposed to torture me for my poor planning. Letting him sleep unswaddled allows him to literally check his surroundings at night, rolling around to get comfortable or scratch his nose or get closer to his blanket. Playing the Baby Go To Sleep cd while we rock him to sleep and setting it to repeat all night is enough of a reminder that it’s bedtime (and as a bonus it drowns out a lot of the tossing and turning noises so I can sleep more). And now he’s nursing just when he’s hungry instead of using me as a pacifier all. night. long.

While he was sharing our room, I was getting about 4-5 total hours of sleep. That is definitely not enough for a functional human being, unless you are currently the parent of a baby who sleeps even less than that, in which case I am so, so sorry. With the baby in the nursery last night, I slept EIGHT HOURS, even including getting up to nurse at 2 am and getting up to bring the baby to bed at 5 am, where he slept happily until 8:30. I’m not banishing the baby from our bed permanently – I’m not even taking down the co-sleeper yet – because when he’s teething/having a growth spurt/reaching a developmental milestone our night schedule might could will change again. And I’m dealing with a little bit of attachment-parenting guilt for choosing my sleep over maintaining a family bed. But after 7 months of exhaustion, I think even the most ardent attachment parenting expert would agree it’s time for a change.

In the past month or so, Baby Evan’s habit of going all Linda Blair on everyone and everything within a 20 foot radius has really improved. I no longer have to act out the ridiculously annoying scene where I say “OK, but he’ll probably throw up on you” to anyone who asks to hold him and then apologize profusely when he actually does throw up on them and they hand him back with disgust. It’s not my fault you’re wearing your best/favorite/only shirt/sweater/work uniform and it’s made of silk/wool/diamonds. I TOLD YOU TO TAKE THE BURP CLOTH.

Having a baby that doesn’t throw up constantly is like having a whole new baby. My stress levels have fallen dramatically, as has my dampness and general smelliness. I do baby laundry every other day instead of twice a day. My diaper bag now contains toys, diapers, and my wallet instead of fourteen burp cloths. I guess all that “he’ll grow out of it” advice was right, although I still maintain telling a mom whose baby pukes every ten seconds to just “wait it out, it’ll get better in 6 to 12 months” is the LEAST HELPFUL THING EVER unless it’s followed by an offer to babysit. For the next 6 to 12 months.

Of course the gradual improvement in spit up levels probably would have gone largely unnoticed – unless something happened that reminded me just how awful the puking used to be. That something happened last night. Baby Evan slept straight through to 3 am last night (yah!) when I rolled him into bed and snuggled down to feed him. I was just drifting off when all the milk that had gone into the baby came erupting out again, soaking me, my tank top, the blanket we were lying on, the baby’s clothes and the baby. I was SOAKED. By some miracle the sheets were spared so I didn’t have to wake E up and strip the bed. I didn’t strip the baby either, since he slept through the puking, although I did worry about him for the rest of the night. He seems totally fine this morning so I guess my OMG SWINE FLU fears were premature and it was just a freak tummy bubble. I will keep an eye on him (and my shirt and my rug and my couch) today for any more pukesplosions, but let’s hope this was just a one-time situation.