When Huck was born, I would think from time to time about how possibly, one day, maybe I might decide I wanted to sleep train him. Every time, without fail, the thought would make my shoulders twitch.
Then one day I thought, shoot! Who says I have to sleep train him, anyway? Your mom? Well, she’s not the boss of me! I’m in charge here, and if I’m happy to spend three hours a night trying to nurse my baby to sleep, then you can’t stop me!
But here’s the thing about sleep training: It is time for sleep training. And here is how I know it is time for sleep training: Because every time I put Huck down–the second time, the third time, the fourth time–after we’ve nursed and rocked and I’ve laid him gingerly in his crib and I’ve held my breath and I’ve tip-toed out of the room while desperately praying that he’ll please-please-please-just-sleep-this-time!–I get this urgent and horrible sensation of needing to stuff my face with every edible item in my pantry.
It’s . . . oh gosh.
Obviously, for the sake of my back side, it is time to sleep train . . . and there go my shoulders.
Tell me please, if you’ve sleep trained, how did you know it was time?
And bonus points if you swear it works/takes only two nights.