Friday, September 13, 2013
LITTLE GLIMPSES OF WHAT LOOKS LIKE A SCHEDULE, MAYBE
It is the three o'clock hour here in San Diego. It's sunny and warm outside. I just fed The Boy and it is officially his fussy hour. I'm thankful for the predictability of his fussy hour, every day at about three. I can stop trying to calm him and nearly losing my mind in the attempt, and just put him on his donut and close the second bedroom door, and let him cry.
Burn some baby energy, as it were. See, fussy hours are a good thing. When Henry first came home, I literally began crying when his cry would become "too sad." If actual tears were involved for him, so they were with me. I have since learned that if I quell his distress and keep him from crying, he won't sleep at night, which only results in more tears from me.
So he cries, and I sit in my heavenly new glider. Actually, right this second he's quiet (he probably tuckered out and cried himself to sleep, which breaks my heart almost as much as crying it out). It's still super hard for me to let him cry. Sometimes I give in after about ten minutes, or however long it takes for the cries to turn to wails, but I try to let him cry hard for at least a little bit. So far we've had success with this "routine." H gives us a couple four-hour stretches of sleep at night, and one two- or three-hour ones. Which is awesome.
"How do you feel today?" I asked Conrad this morning after quite the awesome night of sleep, probably the best since H was born.
"A little groggy," he said. "Like I got too much sleep."
Too much sleep. With a not-quite-three-week-old baby. How about that?
UPDATE: Some of you seemed concerned with me allowing Henry to cry. Read my response here.