The night vigil
4 o’ clock: My baby is home, having succumbed at last to a nap in the stroller while her father took the dog to the park. Her cold, rosy cheeks smell of milk and snow.
10 o’ clock: This is my fourth visit upstairs since Ada went to bed at 7. (Mr. G and I have been taking turns.) It’s the first night we’ve put her to bed unswaddled since she was born and it isn’t going very well, but we can’t keep swaddling her forever and I’ve begun to suspect that she isn’t napping well in part because she hasn’t learned how not to wake up when her arms get capricious. She’s calling for me now, and I’m beating back the lapping edge of frustration with admiration of her effort to use consonants. Only in the past few days has she begun to mimic the patterns of English by punctuating her usual siren of vowels with bleary consonant sounds, and it pleases me that she’s giving it her best shot even in her distress. Not that she doesn’t have a weapons-grade angry howl — she’s been unleashing it upon confinement to her car seat this week — but she isn’t angry now. She’s just bewildered and exhausted. “Ah-byah-vdah-vdah-vdah-vdahv!” she explains tearfully, presenting me with all her arms and legs. What am I supposed to do with these? When I lean into the crib, she buries her little fists in my hair and pulls me close to mouth my cheek. I stroke her face, hold her hands, and she’s asleep again in a minute.
3 o’ clock: This is a long night. Ada is in bed with me, carefully bolstered against rolling; Mr. G made his own bed on the couch — I’ll stick it out with her until 5:30 or 6 and then sleep for a few hours before he has to go to work. She is twisted half to her side, back arched, arms outstretched. Those mutinous limbs have woken her every half-hour or so. I’ve stopped counting the times I’ve nursed her back to sleep or given her my little finger to suckle. (Partial night-weaning is officially on hold for a few days. We’ll take one thing at a time.)
5 o’ clock: Holding one of her hands is working fairly well to keep her asleep, but my arm is tingling in this awkward posture. I am numbering the new things my daughter has encountered in the past day or two: the taste of carrots, the light and color of a slideshow projected on the wall at a party, the alphabet song I sang for her this afternoon, the plush fur of the Corgi pup at our neighbors’ house, the heady power of sitting up in the bathtub to smack at the surface of the water, the knack of tapping the tongue to the alveolar ridge to say “da.” The work her infant brain is doing to consolidate these experiences is staggering. This is why I’m anticipating her movements to guard her sleep. I am thinking of my mother and her mother and all the mothers keeping the night vigil over their babes. I am thinking of mothers in Christchurch camping in broken houses and of mothers in Libya sheltering their little ones from violence, giving thanks that only her own healthy movements are waking my child tonight. In the cocoon of my warm bed, I am wondering whether the snow has begun.
Posted: February 24th, 2011 at 3:05 pm
Sleep, little Ada! I know many a babe that had their arms swaddled for 9-10 months, so if it doesn’t work, don’t fret, mom!
Posted: February 24th, 2011 at 3:38 pm
I expect you know this, but someday, farther off than you can imagine but sooner than you think, you will look back on this night and treasure the memory. Full moons remind me of the many, many (I suspect it was 8!) I saw while nursing my son in the middle of the night.
Swaddle, don’t swaddle. Cry it out, comfort all night… The best advice I ever got was there are no bad choices, only habits you’ll have to break later!
Thank you for your blog. I enjoy your knitting stories, your family stories, your baby stories. You have turns of phrase that have stuck with me. Enjoy that baby. They DO grow up fast.
Posted: February 24th, 2011 at 4:56 pm
What a wonderful mother you are. As parents, we all do the best we can during many uncertain moments. When your child becomes a mother, you will have a glimpse at how well you have done. Like you, I am thankful my grandchild wakes in a warm safe crib where bleary, weary parents watch over him.
Posted: February 24th, 2011 at 7:13 pm
Your post brought me to tears. I remember many a night in the beginning holding Kira as she slept, my arms numb, body aching, mind exhausted. When I look at her now, almost 2 years old, it is hard to believe when you are in the moment but I have come to treasure those nights with all my heart.
“Mom” on…with love (for her) and trust (in yourself)…
Posted: February 24th, 2011 at 8:21 pm
I was also moved to tears reading your post. How we love and protect our little ones. Thinking of the mothers and babies in less fortunate countries is heartbreaking at best.
Posted: February 24th, 2011 at 8:40 pm
That was probably the most beautiful blog post I’ve ever read! You should write a book! And you’re doing such a wonderful job with your sweet baby girl! My almost 3yo didn’t sleep through the night til he was 2, so I spent many a night in your postion, wondering would he ever be able to sleep without having me near to comfort him. And yes, it is good to get a full night’s sleep now. But I’m glad that he still likes to be held before sleep, as a busy toddler has so little time for that during the day. There is no sacrifice greater than that which we make for our children and none made as willingly and steeped in so much love.
Posted: February 25th, 2011 at 4:43 am
Thanks so much for sharing this beautiful piece with us. It brought tears. It’s a long time since I had my babies in my bed (they’re grown up now) but I well remember both the pleasure and the exhaustion
Posted: February 25th, 2011 at 10:23 am
So frustrating yet such a beautiful piece of writing! My 6-month-old son is a flailer too. Don’t know if this will help you, but at daycare they use a sleep sack and zip him in with his arms in. It’s looser than a swaddle, but it seems to keep him from waking himself with those arms. Last night I spent about 10 minutes (felt like an eternity) hunched over the crib rail, holding down those wild arms so he could settle back into sleep. Hope you get some rest this weekend!
Posted: February 25th, 2011 at 1:15 pm
So touching, Sarah… Tears are prickling my eyes, but I will them to stay away!
Posted: February 26th, 2011 at 4:23 am
Thanks for your lovely description of this precious time in your life. As someone mentioned above, you will reap the benefits a hundredfold when your daughter becomes a mother. Watching my daughter mother is one of my greatest joys.
Posted: February 26th, 2011 at 4:57 am
Such a lovely post…………………. I never stop counting our blessings.
Posted: February 26th, 2011 at 9:10 am
All new experiences always seemed to bring about the worst night sleep for my little ones. Though I probably complained more than I should have to my husband, I can’t say that I would have done anything different. 😉 And every child sleeps through the night at different times. (It is so hard to remind yourself this when you are functioning on such broken sleep.)Some kids figure it out and stick with it to become solid night time sleepers. Others or more cyclical, sometimes sleeping through nights for weeks, and then not.
I have one child who is and has been a solid sleeper. And I have 2 that are such the opposite. Maybe its coincidence, but those two are my kids who snuggle more and can be comforted just by being close to us. Already I’m moaning over the fact that soon these children of mine will be growing out of the communication of hugs, forehead kisses, and cheeck cheeck moments sooner than I will. The life of a mother…. 🙂
Posted: February 26th, 2011 at 6:26 pm
I never thought about how all the new experiences that a baby goes through each day could impact their sleep, but you’re so right! Their little brains have so much to process. You’re doing such a great job–put some new pictures up of the little gal soon! *hugs*
Posted: February 26th, 2011 at 10:02 pm
This is my favourite post of all that you’ve written. You have such a wonderful way of describing everything in this post, it’s like poetry. I haven’t had kids yet but this post makes me wish that when I do I can be half as lyrical as you are. I really get a strong picture from this.
I agree that you should write a book or short story.
Posted: February 27th, 2011 at 12:22 pm
One of the things that my friend did to ease her little one from swaddled to not swaddled was to use a sleeping bag, and then wrap a blanket with velcro around her arms. Each night, she made it looser, being sure that it couldn’t get over her face. That seemed to work for her, might be worth a try?
You’re doing a great job. You’ll all get there.
Posted: March 2nd, 2011 at 7:53 pm
I have been there so recently! My Elsa only recently (like in the past week, so I probably don’t want to jinx it) returned to through-the-night sleeping after a bleary 2 and 1/2 month hiatus, which I attribute to my full time return to work. We snuggle and nurse in bed, but now only from 5 to 7 am, rather than from midnight on. And yes, my back is still tweaked from contorting around her and arching to present a breast at all times. I could swear she stayed latched for three hour stretches. It was not comfortable. I miss the “nighttime parenting” a little now, but the return to adequate sleep has given me a new lease on life. You will be there soon. These little baby girls are so sweet and I have also treasured the late-night closeness. A hug to you!