Last night, after many months of hemming and hawing (what the hell does that mean, anyway?), for the first time in the history of his existence, Alex slept through the night.
Attachment parents everywhere are now gathering slings and breast pump parts to lob at me viciously, but I do not care. Last I checked, none of them had offered to come over and love him back to sleep for me, which leaves my sympathy at approximately zero.
It took about 15 minutes of my Benevolent Dictator screaming in his crib for him to realize that neither of his slaves were rushing to his aid, and he promptly stopped screaming and eventually went to sleep (at least, I am assuming that he went to sleep. He could have been translating the collective works of Aristotle for all that I know. Or care.).
(Did you see The Exorcist? Do you remember the part when the possessed little girl is alone in her bedroom and her eyes pop open and she starts being really demonic? I always used to imagine that this is precisely what Alex looked like when he woke up overnight to beckon me to his side. And I am telling you that the minute you start comparing your child to the kid in The Exorcist is when you know once and for all that you are very.not.happy.)
I know better than to pat myself on the back too much, as I know full well that this is just one night in a string of behavior changing nights, but you see, I don’t care. I’m fucking happy as fuck and I am proud of us for doing what we’d needed to do for so long.
Makes me a little ashamed that we haven’t tried it sooner, as it really went much more smoothly than I’d imagined (although, I’m pleased enough that my skin is not shredded into baby nail sized ribbons and hanging off my frame disgustingly, which is really part of how I envisioned my first night of Crying it Out. Alex is cute because he can be so brutal. The cuteness is a defense mechanism on his part so that I don’t “accidentally” “forget him” “at” “the store”).
I feel as though a weight has been lifted off my back (a 20 pound weight, if I must specify, and genuinely not the weight of the world. Even I am not that melodramatic. Shut up. I am not.) and I can not recall a time in recent history when I have felt so incredibly positive. I’m still tired (extra sleep that I’m not accustomed to gives me a odd sleep hangover. Does that happen to anyone else?) but I’m happy.