It’s 2:30 a.m. The baby monitor erupts in blasts of red light, indicating an unhappy infant in the other room. I sigh, trudge across the hall, where I find Monkey rocking on his hands and knees and screaming. I pick him up and he goes limp, sound asleep in my arms. Smiling, I place him in the crib. Upon his butt touching the mattress, he wakes up – WIDE awake – and screams. Repeat process four more times. Leave baby screaming in crib. Flop on bed and say, “I’m done , your turn,” to husband, who groans and mumbles something about work in the morning. Before I can bite his head off lovingly reassure him that I don’t give a rat’s ass his child needs him, he gets up. Strangely, all is quiet for a minute. Daddy comes back to bed. Then, wailing. Screaming. Shrieking. Choking. Almost vomiting. The crying is getting worse. I decide to try “cry it out”, the crying and choking escalate. The baby is upset. 30 minutes later I can’t take it anymore. I go in and try to comfort Monkey. He’s not having it. He wriggles in my arms, screaming, refusing to be comforted. I’ve left him to cry and he’s holding a grudge. Eventually, the crying makes way to sad little hiccups. Then he’s asleep in my arms. I place him lovingly in the crib and… yep. Butt hits mattress and crying commences. I pick him up, scream, “FINE, YOU WIN!!”, and put him in bed with me. We both fall asleep immediately. It’s 4:00. Sleep training = FAIL.
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