I used to be a hard sleeper. As in, prop me up against the wall and I could probably get a full 8 hours of sleep. Heck, I slept an entire winter outside in below-freezing temperatures while surrounded by ten shoeless, at-risk teenage girls and never missed a wink.
Since we brought Noah home I have had this slight concern about how far his room is from ours. Granted, our house isn’t THAT big, but his room is all the way across the house, with two thick wood doors between us at night. Hence, why he slept in our room until just after Christmas. I was the one not ready for the transition, he did great (as he does with just about everything). And I was really starting to get used to it. Chris and I really enjoy having our room to ourselves again so our nightly routine could commence.
Get your minds out of the gutter.
We like to read favorite books together and have long conversations. About dreams and goals. About the future. About how we have the cutest little guy ever. Ever.
All was well, we were getting back to normal. And getting some sleep. Until last night.
Noah went down around 9pm and we followed around 10:30pm. This is a new bedtime for him, he had been going to bed around 11pm (or later some nights) and we were beginning to think we were raising a teenager already. That being said, with the adjustment he’s been waking around 3am to eat and then goes right back down. I know he will eventually just drop the 3am feeding, since he had previously been sleeping from 11pm-9am, it’s just a matter of adjusting.
So we turned on the monitor and hit the hay. Or so we thought.
I stirred around 3am, as my body is used to this, and no noise from little guy. I rolled over and went back to sleep.
I stirred again around 6am, no noise from little guy. I rolled over, but couldn’t go back to sleep. Something didn’t feel right. Something didn’t sound right. I couldn’t hear him sleeping on the monitor. So I tried to convince myself, in a sleepy daze, that I was over-thinking things, that this was probably Noah getting back to sleeping through the night. I laid there a little longer, 20 minutes or so, and just couldn’t shake the thought that something wasn’t right. Something didn’t sound right. I couldn’t hear the hum of the monitor.
I couldn’t hear the hum of the monitor.
I quickly hopped out of bed, went over to the monitor, and sure enough, nothing. No noise. Nothing. The green light was on but there was no static, no white noise. Nothing.
Remember, it’s now 6:30am, he normally stirs around 3am. You can imagine the thoughts running through my head. With cat-like speed I scurry to his room to find him on his back (other mama’s, don’t freak out, but we sleep him on his tummy because he breathes better) squealing, not upset, just making noise. I scoop him up and take him back to our room. He eats for about 15 minutes and dozes right on back to sleep. Like the amazing baby he is.
I will never know what happened between the hours of 3am and 6:30am. I can only hope that he just slept on through because I would have never heard him if he was crying. I will tell myself that he was happy, talking and singing to himself like he usually does. That’s the story I am going with.
But the huge wet spot in his crib from drool and probably (sigh) tears may prove otherwise.