Thanks everyone for the kind words and comments on the last post. And lest you think that I am currently swimming in a cesspool, don’t worry, I am fine. I suspect that I am what the great Moxie calls a “tension decreaser“, which is to say that I release tension by crying so that huge meltdown was truly what I needed. My child, on the other hand…
Anyway, night weaning has its ups and downs. The crying drains you of any resolve that you may have. The insistence of the little man wanting to nurse. His frustration at not getting what he wants. The late night histrionics.
Actually, the histrionics are the funny moments of this tedious process. I may or may not have birthed a drama king. Hardly surprising, given that I tend to be a little dramatic myself. Hah!
So last night was Night 6 (or is it 5? I honestly can’t remember!) and the boy slept from about 915pm to 330am. Which was great. And then he woke up, demanding a drink from the tap. Mr Thick went in to get him and 30 minutes later, he came back with the boy, muttered “I can’t get him to go back to sleep”, handed me the boy and dove straight back under the covers and started to snore in under 30 seconds.
And of course, the boy being the boy, he started signing for milk and I said, “All done.” He was having none of it and yelled a bit. That is the key difference – the yelling. While it used to be an all-out I DON’T GET IT, WHERE IS MY MILK sort of hysterics, this time, the yelling was more of URGHS WHY IS THIS WOMAN SO FRUSTRATING? JUST GIMME MY MILK.
We did this little dance for all of 90 minutes, with me distracting him in all sorts of ways: “Look, cars!”; “Oh, turtle and stars!” (thanks, Aunty Yi Lin); “More bread?” He would take the bait but he never wavered from his goal, which was to nurse. I ended up lying on my chest next to him and counting sheep, while he pulled his hair out, literally, in frustration.
It was quite hilarious, I was stifling my giggles at one point, because I realised that my laughter made him madder.
After a while, I was so bored of this routine and needed a more comfortable bed. I hauled him back to ours and sat him in the middle, while I rested against the wall, eyes closed. At times, there would be silence but the second I opened my eyes to take a peek, his wails would begin again. Ah hah! Attention seeker!
Finally, at 530am, he sort of gave a yell and collapsed onto my chest. I held my breath (not because of the haze, I assure you) for a while before stroking his hair gingerly.
HE WAS OUT.
Well, until he woke up at 6-ish again and demanded milk. And since this was past the 6am window that I had set, I gladly let him nurse and fell asleep.
So this is Night 5. Or 6. I don’t know how long this process is going to take but I am hopeful that we are making progress, however tiny that might be. It’s tough, but I have to remind myself that the end goal is greater than whatever misery we are going through right now.
If you have night weaned or sleep trained before and have words of wisdom to spare, I’ll be more than appreciative!