An 18 month old

I just got through rocking my baby to sleep. I just got through rocking my baby to sleep.

There, I admit it. I feel the disapproving scorn through the monitor. I know all too well that letting my baby fall asleep in my arms is not the way to teach him to go to sleep on his own and sleep through the night. He was having a rough day. The damn cuspids coming in that appear to be more grueling than the first set of molars. I am a die hard Sleep Lady Shuffler. I have touted her recommendations and stuck to it for 6 months now for the most part with great success.

Then there are days like tonight. When the pillow is thrown onto the floor, his blanket in a heep on the floor (don't pick them up says The Sleep Lady). And Leif stands there crying and looking at me with tears streaming down his face. The voice of The Sleep Lady in my head (not that I have ever spoken to her, yet I hear the voice).

Then the other voice pipes up. The one that tells me that before I know it, my baby will be a teenager. One that has no problem putting himself to sleep, sleeping through the night AND sleeping past 5:40am. And I will look at him and wonder why I didn't rock him to sleep more often when I had the chance.

I took that chance tonight. The chance that I won't be ruining him for falling asleep for life. That we will survive if we don't get back to the Shuffle till after these damn cuspids cut through. Because Leif needed it, I needed it. I needed to see his eyes flutter, feel his arms reaching around my side as he nuzzled his head in closer. Happy 18 months Leif! And thank you God for this little boy.