C. is sleeping in his crib, and I don’t have to nurse him to sleep anymore.
I was nervous to put him in his own room. I loved waking up with him on one side, A. on the other, the morning light streaming in through our bedroom window. C. would open his eyes and lie in the co-sleeper in his velcro swaddle, waiting for us to wake up. And when we’d roll over and say in a quiet voice, “Hi! Good morning!” he’d look at us and smile.
I felt anxious about making the change because I thought I’d really miss listening to him breathing or sighing in the middle of the night.
But oddly, I haven’t. I know he’s just down the hall and we’re both sleeping better. And I certainly don’t miss taking an hour to put him down. That ballet of nursing him, holding him while he slept in my arms for a full 15 to 20 minutes and then quietly, delicately, moving him to the co-sleeper. And then the exasperation when he woke up, startled and crying, and I had to nurse him all over again. I don’t miss that at all.
The past few nights, I have nursed him, kissed him, put him down gently, put the pacifier in his mouth, said goodnight and walked out of his room with his eyes wide open. And he put himself to sleep. Magic!
And now I have my evenings back with A., where we can make a late dinner, drink wine and sit and talk.