The Little Guy had a fitful night.
He went to sleep great at 8:30 p.m., just like any other night. But just before 1 a.m. he was up and practically inconsolable.
I am not exaggerating when I say this has happened maybe three times since he was a four-month-old.
This morning, my husband had to go to work and the Little Guy to daycare. I got to sleep in.
Mostly, I think weening has been tough on the Little Guy and he just wanted to be snuggled.
The report yesterday from daycare was that anytime they put him down he fussed. He almost never fusses. He is laid back, relaxed and care free. Because he gets upset so rarely, it is especially heartbreaking when it happens.
During the night I held him on my chest and couldn’t help but think of the earliest days of his life, when he slept there because I couldn’t get to him otherwise. He’s a lot bigger now. He even seems more independent as he sleeps spread out rather than tucked into that tight fetal position ball. But he still wanted to be cuddled, wanted to know we have his back. When he stretched out or turned, it was as though he would realize he wasn’t being snuggled as tightly and snapped back into position so I could wrap my arms around him.
I couldn’t help but think about the second night home, while the Little Guy slept in his bassinet next to our bed and I realized I could not make my body move the way I wanted it to. It was one of the most painful nights of my life. I struggled to get into bed and ended up laying on my side. I started crying from the pain and telling my husband he had to help me move to an upright position.
My brain was telling my body to move and I couldn’t make myself do it. All I felt was pain. A blinding, burning, pain in my pelvic bones unlike anything I had ever felt. There was something very wrong with my bones. They were not where they should be within my body, and could not handle my weight.
My husband realized the seriousness of my predicament pretty quickly and rushed to my side of the bed. I put my arms around his neck and he lifted me into place.
That night, I truly believe someone could have shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have noticed. That night I realized what we were up against.
And it was the night the Little Guy started to sleep on my chest. He did that for nearly two months, then slept in the bassinet for about a month, then moved to his crib and I finally learned to stop waking him up at night. He’s been a sleeping champ ever since.
Last night, even though I woke up every time the Little Guy shifted to get comfortable, I was reminded how far we have come, as mother and son, as husband and wife and as a family of three.
We are in this together. Each of us has to carry some of the load. I hate that my son has to do that. It was not my plan to ween him now. But if it will make my bones stronger and my chances of a complete recovery better than he will do his part and I will do mine. We will come out of this experience stronger and even more committed and connected to one another.
Separated at Birth 