Sleep Wars

It's no secret around these parts that Parker is not a good sleeper. That, my friends, is the gross understatement of the year. In fact, from his first day of life, the only way that he (and thus we) could get solid sleep was if he was firmly snuggled up against one of us. Fast forward 3.5 years and here we are...being solidly thumped in the back by a 40-something lb. child on a daily basis. This was not how it was supposed to be. But alas, it's how it is. I'm certain that we should probably have stepped in at some point and had a sleep intervention, but let's face it, is there ever a good time to go without sleep for an entire week?

For whatever reason, I hit my breaking point this week. While it's definitely not a good time to jump into the deep end of the sleep deprivation pool, I realized that it's now or never. So this week, I initiated The Sleep Wars. That sounds scary, doesn't it? Well, it is. It's very scary and completely intimidating, but once the battle sequence has been initiated. There is no backing down.

Parker. Will. Sleep. Alone...or I will be committed. One way or another, this has to end and whether I end up sleeping soundly in my own bed or in a mental ward, I'm sure I'll be in a happy place.

Frankly, part of the reason why it has taken us this long is that the kind-hearted, attachment-parenting mom in me doesn't ever want to hear my sweet, dear child unhappy or fretting. In a perfect world, he would leave the nest when he was ready, but in that world, I didn't have a full-time job. The fact of the matter is that the Irishman and I will be better parents if we didn't spend half of our days roaming around like zombies, putting our keys in the fridge and the milk by the front door. It's bad. Very bad.

Before you ask, yes, I've read all of the books and done all of the research and now, it's time to execute. We began Phase One of the Sleep Wars last night and it looked something like this.

8pm

(me): Parker, isn't it exciting that you're going to sleep by yourself like a big boy?

(Parker) I don't want to be a big boy, I want to be your sweet baby. Please don't leave me.

9pm

(Parker still not sleeping) (me): Okay buddy, I'm going to my bed now. I love you. Good night.

Parker falls asleep.

12:00am

(Parker crying) Momma, I need you. Please don't leave me.

(me) Everything is okay, Parker, we're right across the hall. You're just fine.

(Parker) I'm scared. Please don't leave me.

(me) It's okay, buddy. You have your light on. Everything is okay.

I go back to my room feeling like a horrible and selfish and very bad parent.

12:30am

(Parker crying again) Momma, I don't want to be alone. Why won't you stay with me.

(me, getting desperate) Parker, would you feel better if Nona stayed with you?

(Parker, sniffling) Yes.

Momma runs into her bedroom, grabs a sleeping Nona and hurls her onto the bed. Stay Nona.

4:00am

(Parker) Momma, is it morning yet?

(me) No, go back to your bed. Is Nona still there?

(Parker) Yes, but she's sleeping by my feet and not by my head.

(me) That's okay, go back to bed. You can come out when the sun is up.

Parker exits the scene and sleeps until 8am.

Is that success? Progress? Did I win the first skirmish? I haven't a clue. I do, however, feel exactly how I did when I had a one-month old. Delirious, crusty-eyed, pitiful.

Tonight is the Irishman's night and I've already threatened him with bodily harm should he cave and lay down in Parker's bed. In fact, I think he's a bit frightened because this morning, I grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled him close so that he could look me in my bloodshot, twitching eyes and said, "Solider, you will not fail in this mission. Are we clear? I said ARE WE CLEAR?"

May the force be with us.