But When Will *I* Learn To Self Soothe?

When Mia was a baby, we let her 'cry it out'. I didn't know what else to do, and all the books I'd read advised me that this was the best way to raise a confident, healthy child. With Lauren, I was more lenient. More willing to trust my heart in yearning to protect and help her learn how to sleep. But still, we resorted to letting her cry when all other attempts had failed. Yes, it worked, but no, I don't plan on trying it again.

I remember breaking out in a sweat while I listened to Mia crying herself to sleep and watching the clock - giving myself permission to go hold her after a set number of minutes had passed. It was a relief for both of us when I could finally swoop in and cuddle her back into comfort.

Sometimes, though, the time passed and she stopped crying. That's what the experts all said was supposed to happen: self soothing. But that's when I felt broken inside, because I'd missed the window for comforting my darling girl. I could imagine her in her bed, sniffling into sleep, tears drying on her plump cheeks, alone and trembling while I hovered outside her door wishing she were in my arms.

Now that my girls are older, past the crying to sleep stage, they both fall asleep without a fuss. They chatter and sing and roll around until sleep overtakes their tired eyes, and they finally succumb to rest. But when one of them wakes in the night - wailing a short cry - I find myself, once more, hovering at closed doors. I wait to see if the cry will come again, or if it's merely a dream induced utterance. Sleep talking of the toddler variety.

When Lauren yelled a quick succession of cries last night, I sprinted to her door, feeling a rush of memory from times past when I had let her 'self soothe' and wished I hadn't. With my hand perched at the knob, I waited to see if she needed me. But the cries had stopped; the only sound I heard from the other side of the door was a deep sigh and the rustle of a blanket. My heart sank. I was so ready to cuddle her back into sleepiness. I was so ready to reassure her with my presence.

It's more likely that I was ready for her to reassure me with her presence.

After a few moments of second guessing my need to be close to her, I quietly turned the doorknob, and entered the darkened room to peek at my baby girl. She was upside down in her bed - feet towards the pillow, head on the blanket - curled into an inviting half moon of sleepiness. Her fist was perched close to her relaxed face; no sign of worry or distress was etched in her brow. She was calm. Peaceful.

And just breathing air in the same space she occupied had calmed me as well.

I stepped to her doorway to motion Justin over to take a peek. He tiptoed silently, not wanting to disturb Lauren's sleep, and gazed into her crib. The darkness of the room made it impossible to see her shape without bending close, so we both inched down - wanting to remember her expression, her even breaths, her curled body.

Justin and I smiled at each other. There's something altogether glorious about watching our children sleep, and it seems to bind us further together with it's sweetness.

He turned to leave, and CRA-UNK. His ankle popped, sending shock waves around the silent room. Lauren immediately rolled over and up to her hands and knees, staring with bewilderment at her love-drunk parents. Seizing the opportunity while Justin snuck out the door, I settled my baby back into her bed. Snuggling for just a minute before laying her down into her warm, inviting nest.

I went off to bed then, myself. With my heart full and my arms still imprinted with the weight of my sleepy daughter.