This is our normal bedtime routine:
We try to watch TV/read for class/actually talk while holding Henry on the couch. He decides he would prefer to be held while we are standing. We take turns standing and rocking while singing either "Jesus Loves Me" or "I've Been Working on the Railroad." Over and over.
Henry starts to fall asleep sucking on his pacifier. Henry spits out pacifier and resumes fussy crying. Repeat 50 billion times. Daddy changes diaper and then swaddles Henry. Resume standing and singing routine. Finally Henry falls asleep around 9:30 on my chest. The slow walk to the bedroom begins followed by an even slower lowering into the crib. On a good night, he snorts, flutters his eyelids and falls into a deeper sleep. You can guess what happens on the bad nights.
Regardless, he is up at 11 at which point I pull him into bed and nurse him. He falls right back to sleep in my arms and I use a nifty roll maneuver to place him in between our pillows where he sleeps til 3 a.m. and then til 7 a.m.
At our two month appointment, I explained this routine followed by "I know our bed isn't the safest place for him, ok?" This was met with the uh yeah nod.
Instead of this chaotic routine, Dr. K recommended this sleep training process:
Start at 8 p.m. Change his diaper and put on his jammies. Sing him a nice little song and read a book. Nurse him and when he's 95 percent asleep, put him in his crib. He falls asleep in his crib therefore won't get mad when he wakes up in his crib. Happily ever after in sleep land. Obviously Dr. K got his kids from the perfect store.
The first night, as soon as he started fussing in his crib, Shea swooped him up saying "oh you want to sleep with us? OK!"
Last night we attempted to follow directions. After battling through song and dance (literally), we got him calm enough to look at a book. Swaddled and sleepy, we got him in his crib by 11 and there he stayed. Feeling pretty empowered, we went to sleep and didn't wake up until 4 a.m. I nurse and then burp him. I got my burp followed by a good 48 hours worth of milk spit up in my hair, causing me to start screaming for a towel. Mostly because I had just changed our sheets. And that does not happen often. Or ever.
Shea, handing me a towel: "So now what? Are supposed to put him back in his crib? Read him another book? Sing a song?"
Me, stripping off my clothes: "The only thing I am doing is taking as shower because there is baby vomit dripping off my hair and down my back."
Needless to say, Henry spent the rest of the night not in his crib, but in our bed.