I'm sitting here at 9:16pm in parental agony. My sweet little Peanut is in the next room, wailing her little lungs out in protest. There are 4 minutes and 32 seconds that remain between me and picking her up again.
All of you parents out there know what's going on in the Thomptel household tonight.
You see, we had agreed that if Peanut started magically sleeping through the night again at 9 months we wouldn't explore any sort of "sleep training". But the milestone came and went and still no consistent slumber and we vowed that we wouldn't make the same mistake that we had with the Bug.
We would find a way to help the Peanut be a great, independent sleeper and that meant sleep training of one sort or another.
And this is such a personal, family by family thing. But for us, this was our line, our threshold. And so, we agreed that we would start the painful, horrible process that is teaching her how to fall asleep and stay asleep by herself. No rocking or nursing or soothing or staying.
It's the logical, rational thing to do. J and I need the sleep. It's the right thing to do for the Peanut.
But do you know how hard it is, how physically and physiologically painful it is to hear your sweet happy baby cry cries of protest and fury and misery?
Oh I know this won't permanently scar her, that she won't harbor last feelings of resentment and abandonment.
But in this moment, this second, this time, that keeps me from doing what is natural to me, keeps me from comforting her, I can't help but hurt and want to curl up in misery.
I hate this I hate this I hate this I hate this.
There is nothing more unnatural than not comforting your child when they need you. I don't care if it's good for her and us and the future.
So it's 9:20pm. And I'm counting down the seconds until I can barge in there and pick my precious up.
Because sleep be damned. My Peanut needs a cuddle.