My boys both slept through the night last night, and the night before. Not a creature was stirring, except for the constantly hungry cat, from a little after ten to 5:30. I should be happy, right? Perhaps I've got a slumber hangover - you know, when you feel like crap because you've rested too much after your body has become accustomed to a frequently interrupted night of sleep - because I'm not. See, three month old Jonas slept both of these nights in his own room. It was the end to cosleeping.
Until two nights ago, Jonas snoozed in a bassinet at the foot of our bed, or in bed with us. Sometimes he snoozed. Other times he rolled around and squawked. Sean and I got used to whispering. I got used to tiptoeing about, trying to stay quiet, and then stumbling over a laundry basket/toy tractor/stray boot/cat because of Sleeping Baby Law No. 23 that goes something like, "The harder you try to minimize noise, the more the jackhammer will slam and the rooster will crow." It follows Sleeping Baby Law No. 22: Whenever you tell someone the baby slept through the night, he will fail to sleep through the night on the following evening, and right before Sleeping Baby Law No. 24: When you most want the baby to sleep, the baby will sleep the least. When you want to keep the baby awake, the baby will want to sleep. Then there's my current personal nemesis, Sleeping Baby Law No. 37: The minute you pour a glass of wine and relax, thinking the baby is finally, really, truly asleep, the baby will start crying again.
After a few nights of regression (Sleeping Baby Law No. 1: As soon as you think you've got the schedule figured out, it will change), I decided it was time for Jonas to go out on his own, his own in this case meaning a room down the hall. The night wakings were increasing, not decreasing, and I'd had enough. He moved to what we're callling the boys' room, the bedroom across the way from Axel's. Once Jonas is sleeping more regularly, we'll probably combine the boys in this room and return Axel's current bedroom to an office. It will be nice not to have tomato sauce splattered on my laptop, now squashed in a makeshift kitchen counter pile of clutter/office/work type space. But, I'm not going to risk having one boy wake up the other one during this precarious sleeping stage, if I can help it. Thus, the separate rooms for now.
That first night, our bedroom was quiet, even though we could talk loudly. I didn't cringe at each shake of the cat's collar, or hiss at him to be still so he wouldn't wakt the baby. I listened to the humidifers swoosh on the dual baby monitors, thinking I'd heard nonexistent squawks.
Sleeping through the night is a good thing, and the kid does seem to sleep better in his own room. It was time for him to sleep in his crib. We'll both rest better this way. But I missed hearing his little snuffles and staring at his chubby cheeks when our room is flooded by the neighbor's overactive motion sensor security light. Our bedroom felt empty, even though our cat was trying his best to crowd me out of the bed. I told Sean that the boys were growing up. He laughed because Jonas can't even roll over from his back to his belly. My overactive imagination was leaping from moving out of our bedroom to moving out of the house, fast-forwarding the next 18 years. Obviously he hasn't left yet.
He's just down the hall.
