surrender

I had a conversation with a friend this morning as I left school. She asked how I was and with a smile I replied, sleepy. I then alluded to Hottie who was looking up at us from the stroller and said something like, He just wants to be next to me all night long.

Her response was perfect. She talked about her son and how he slept better - they both slept better - the first year when he was in the bed. She mentioned families in Japan, that they sleep together their whole lives.


For weeks now there has been this pull inside between what the books say and what my reality is. I totally get sleep training. We did it with Eliana. It worked. She was and continues to be a tremendous sleeper. Sol, on the other hand, is in a totally different position. The teeny room he was born in is the room he continues to inhabit. Our teeny room. There's no where else for him to go (short of the front hall or the basement, options we continue to return to even in all their ridiculousness). But who the hell puts their baby in the front hall? And I certainly don't want to move down to the basement with him. Besides, radon and mold make it feel unhealthy and ridiculous and desperate.

So why do I resist bringing him into bed when he wakes in the night? I've always been a pleaser. Is it me feeling like I have to do the right thing? Like in order to be a good mama, I have to listen to those books? Am I trying to please The Sleep Lady or Dr. Weissbluth? Am I that ridiculous?
Am I going to create some sort of needy monster if I let him stay in the bed? Those books can be so didactic. Make you feel like everything that's instinctual is wrong. And I love having him close to me. Love that quiet time we get in the night -- especially if it means he sleeps.

Then there's the guilt factor. Perhaps he's up more at night because I'm gone more during the day. Perhaps if I didn't have to go to work, he'd be sleeping like a champ. I know that's ridiculous, but there are always those little voices. So many comments can be taken seriously.

He just wants his mama, Gil. He misses you during the day.

Or in reference to Happy Sad's post school melt-downs:

Six hours is a really long time for a three year old to be in school. She's just had too much.


This may all be good and true. I certainly know that my girlfriend who said this had absolutely no intention of making me feel guilty, of making me feel somehow like a bad mama. But I'm a guilt junkie. Always have been. Give me a taste from the guilt garden and I'll grow it nice and big.

Like yesterday. The The Great Bear Foundation people left this fluorescent pink paper on my front door. Right by my big apple tree, still dripping with apples. Even after Sunday after Sunday of apple picking. And precarious ladder climbing. With a baby beneath the tree in a bouncy seat, apples flying dangerously close to his big, bald noggin. And crock pot after crock pot full of applesauce. And apple butter. But damnit if I just can't get to those top branches. Where am I going with this? So then last night when I'm up nursing Sol, I keep going back to the Bear people. About how guilty I feel for not having my tree perfectly picked. How I'll be responsible for some poor bear wandering around on my busy street, lured by my apples. I wanted to call them at three in the morning and explain how hard I had tried with the apples. Even my neighbor picked some, I would say! You should see my freezer full of applesauce for my baby! Please don't make me feel guilty!

So why the hell am I beating myself up? Why am I so good at being a guilt glutton. This is my situation. This is my family. My apple tree. My little bedroom. We are doing what we have to do. What we want to do.

So thank you mama this morning who made me feel fine about my choices. Thank you for making me feel totally in sync with my instincts.

So many paths to take on this ever-changing journey. So much to explore. Nothing to justify.

Jen, Thank you for taking these insanely gorgeous pictures of our family. You are one talented woman.