Okay, fine, we’ve officially given up.
You win, Veronica (*throws hands up in the air*). Here you go, take the pacifiers. Take aaaaallllll the pacifiers. Because we need sleep and the other shit we were doing? That wasn’t working.
But you know what I love about us? What I think makes us brilliant? We have a routine. We have a routine that we stick to religiously. At night, we have her take a cat nap, and then dinner, and then bath, and then feed, a book, and bed. And on the days that the schedule is compromised for one reason or the other?
Leah: “Oh, shoot, I don’t know if we’ll be able to get her a bath tonight?”
Me: Sigh. “Well, that’s not going to be good.”
But, wait, you know what? IT DOESN’T MATTER. We don’t have the right to hem and haw over a routine when it doesn’t work in the first place. For all we know, the best routine for her, the one that will have her sleeping in until 8 am, might be to eat dinner in the bath tub followed by a bottle shoved through the spine of a book. Or maybe she should ride through the living room on a llama while a dozen howler monkeys throw food at her, “Come on Eileen” playing softly in the background. We don’t know. Nobody knows, because we are sticking to the schedule that has produced zero positive results.
But anyway, schedule aside, she’s not sleeping through the night on her own. Or really, anything close. We’d reached the point where, every night between 10:30 and 11:30, Veronica would wake up and not go back asleep until she was laying on her mom’s chest. That wasn’t great sleep for Mom. And then Veronica would usually make it until about 5 or maybe 5:30 when she would start tossing around on Mom’s chest, so Dad would take her downstairs. That wasn’t great sleep for Dad. In the end, everyone loses. Well, everyone except Veronica. She was pretty happy, actually.
So finally, after months of this, we gave up and started throwing pacifiers at her. We are now putting her down with a pacifier and have sprinkled a half dozen pacifiers in her crib. Why not more? Because the other half dozen that we’d like to put in there are hanging out with the missing left socks. Someday they will tear this house down and a thousand pacifiers will come spilling out.
We really tried to avoid having her be a pacifier baby. Not because we don’t like pacifiers. Shit, we love them. But because having a pacifier baby means that, for a long time, we’ll be getting up at least once a night (usually twice) to replace a pacifier once she’s kicked them all off the crib. And you have to go in there and grope around in the dark, running your hands along the crib mattress feeling for plastic (why do they make the little fuckers clear?)
(no pacifiers there)
Fishing around in the gap between the bars and the mattress, until finally having to drop to the floor and reach under the crib. And by that time it’s 3 am and you’re pretty much all the way awake and have to go pee.
So yeah, we wanted to avoid the pacifier, but she never found her thumb and she didn’t have an interested in a lovey, so here we are. She, like her brother and sister before her, is a pacifier kid. But you know what? Last night she slept in until 6am.
So I guess maybe the routine does work, plus a pacifier or two.