I have all these amazing friends who are training for some sort of running race or another. They are my heroes. They run at night, they run on early Saturday mornings, they run when the air freezes their lungs, they run when they can't breath, for the air is as thick as soup. I am impressed by them all.
I am in a training of a different sort. I am training to get back in the routine of having a newborn baby. My personal trainer: Charlie. Around 11pm I got home from book club last night and was about to go to bed when he started wailing. I waited, figuring that he was just calling out from a dream. No such luck. The crying wouldn't end and, in fact, got worse. I picked him up out of his crib and rocked him in a chair in his room.
After doing this for about a half-hour, he was breathing quite deeply and I felt it was safe to lie him down and head on in to my own bed. The cries began immediately. I let him go (I'm pretty good at letting my kids cry it out), then realized it wasn't going to end. So I went in to get him, bringing him in bed with us. It's always been my preference not to have kids in bed with us. This is mainly when they're itty-bitty because it scares me to no end. Now that Charlie has gotten bigger, he usually sleeps so well lying between us that I give in every once in a while.
This did not work last night. He was kicking and turning and doing everything but sleeping. Finally, I put him back in his crib and had him put himself to sleep. He woke up at normal time this morning, with a smile on his face, like last night did not happen. So I have no answers, no way to avoid what happened last night. I certainly did not wake up with a smile on my face! The only thing I can figure is that Charlie knows that his little brother or sister is on its way and he's doing his best to help me ease back into the routine. Such a thoughtful kid!