Being a new mom is hard under the most perfect of conditions. You're tired, sore, and probably dirty because you've forgotten to take a shower for the past week. And that's when you have the ideal situation.
When you have a baby who won't sleep, the situation is just that much worse. This was where I found myself when my second son was born. He didn't sleep. Ever. Oh, he'd nap for 10 minutes at a time maybe 5 or 6 times a day, but he didn't actually sleep. And since I was going through a divorce, I didn't have anyone to take over so I could catch a nap. That meant less than an hour of sleep per day, and none of that was consecutive. I was totally fried and losing my mind.
Still, I held in there. For five months. On an hour of sleep. Picture that for a moment. I was past being a zombie, and I had a 2-year-old and an infant to care for. Everyone was cranky, everyone was tired, and I think we were all insane. No one was even liking each other at the time.
I had to do something. So I made a decision that wasn't entirely conscious and was mostly driven by exhausted instinct and put the baby down. I put him safely in his crib one night and walked away. I closed the door behind me and collapsed on the floor. I literally did not have the strength to stay on my feet for another minute. It was sit down or pass out.
In fact, I think I maybe passed out. The baby was out of my arms for the first time in five months. I had no reserves left and needed to just sit there, back against the door. So I sat.
And the baby cried. I don't actually know how long he cried. It was more than a minute, less than 30 minutes. I was only semi-conscious, so I'm not exactly sure. But I do know that the crying suddenly stopped. Just stopped. Like some sort of magic. He'd never been quiet when not in my arms.
So my first thought, quiet naturally, was, "He's dead!" Give me a break. I was insane at the time. So I went back in. But just in case he was alive and actually sleeping, or just trying to trick me, I had to be sneaky. Which meant I became Ninja Mommy. I was probably much less impressive in real life, but in my demented state I remember being very sneaky indeed. I remember slinking across the floor and peeking into the crib like a pro. I'm sure I was more like a slug who couldn't see straight. Whatever.
And there he was, sleeping like a champ. A champ I tell you! And not in my arms. For the first time ever. In my relief, I fell asleep right there on the floor. Ninja Mommy indeed.
Did I feel guilty? Honestly, I was too tired to feel guilt. I didn't cry when he cried because I was mostly unconscious. I didn't experience any of the emotions I've heard other moms talk about when they let their babies cry it out. And I wasn't deliberately letting him cry it out. I was just too tired to do anything else.
The next day I took my baby to the doctor because I needed him to tell me that what I had done was okay. He patted me on the back and asked me why I hadn't done it sooner. And, of course, reminded me he'd suggested it before. Twice. I'd just been too tired to listen.
Armed with the knowledge that I was not hurting my baby, I did it again. And again. By night five he was only protesting by waving his arms and snorting at me (he still snorts when he's annoyed and he's 7 now).
I was sleeping! Both kids were sleeping! We no longer hated each other! Mission accomplished (not that I'd really had a mission). I know there are people out there who would say I was being cruel. I don't care. It was either let him cry or drop kick him. Yes, I really was that tired. And I really needed to do something, and I was acting only on instinct.
So what's the moral of the story? That we, as parents, do what we have to do. We do what works for us. Because that's all any if us can ever do.
