My 10-month-old wakes up screaming at the top of his lungs every night, and I’m tired of lying about it
Last night it was 2:17 a.m. I know that because I stared at my phone screen long enough for the numbers to burn into my retinas, right after that scream ripped through the house. I’d just gotten to the good part of sleep—you know, that part where you forget all the dirty dishes in the sink, the car registration that’s due, and the fact that you still haven’t returned that Amazon package that’s been sitting by the door for two weeks. One second I was out, the next I was jerking up in bed, heart pounding, convinced the house was on fire or a raccoon broke in through the kitchen window. Turns out it’s just the baby. Again.
It’s not even a normal cry. When he’s hungry it’s that grumbly, whiny little build-up, like he’s giving you a heads up he needs something. This is full volume, right out the gate, like he just woke up to a wolf spider crawling on his cheek. I’ve checked. I’ve checked for spiders, I’ve checked for blankets wrapped around his ankles, I’ve checked his temperature, I’ve felt his gums for new teeth, I’ve made sure the night light isn’t too bright or too dim. Last week I even crawled into his crib myself (don’t judge, I was delirious) to see if the mattress was lumpy. It’s not. Everything’s fine, on paper. He just wakes up screaming like his whole world just ended.
My mom stayed over two weekends ago to help, and when he let loose at 1:45 a.m. she jumped out of the guest bed so fast she tripped over my laundry basket full of dirty onesies, and cracked the bottle of OPI nail polish she got for her 60th birthday. She was sniffling as much as he was after that, not really even about the polish, just because we were both so tired and jumpy from that sudden, gut-punch scream. I felt terrible, but also weirdly relieved that someone else got that split second of “what if something’s actually wrong” that makes your hands shake while you’re walking down the hall. My husband just kind of sleepwalks through it most nights, which is fine, but he doesn’t get that jolt of panic that stays with you even after you’ve picked the baby up and confirmed he’s okay.
We live in a second-floor apartment with paper-thin walls, and a week ago I found a note taped to our door after a 2 a.m. screaming fit that just said “Some of us have to be at work at 6 a.m.” I baked her chocolate chip cookies the next day, left them in a tin with a long, awkward apology note. I saw them sitting on her doormat three days later, still unopened. I get it. I’d be annoyed too. I just didn’t know what else to do.
Everyone’s got an opinion, you know? Sleep training! Separation anxiety! He’s too hot! He’s too cold! Teething! He’s hungry! Stop bringing him into your bed, you’ll never break the habit! Let him cry it out, he’ll learn to self-soothe! We tried cry it out. For seven whole days. I sat on the floor outside his door with a stopwatch open on my phone, like I was doing some stupid science experiment. He screamed so hard he threw up twice. On the third night I just wrenched the door open, picked him up, and he clung to my neck so tight I could barely breathe, and I cried right along with him. I don’t care about bad habits. I care about not letting my baby think I’m not coming when he’s scared.
I thought I had it figured out last week, actually. He napped really bad at daycare, so I gave him an extra four ounces of formula before bed, and a little Tylenol because his gums looked swollen, and he slept seven straight hours. Seven! I woke up at 7 a.m. and couldn’t believe it. I got to drink my coffee hot, I got to fold laundry before the sun came up, I posted all excited in my mom group like “Guys, it finally worked!” Then the next night he was up at 1, 2:45, and 4:15. Three times. I didn’t even post that update. What’s the point? It’s always one step forward, three steps back.
Some days I hate this. Yesterday I was so tired I forgot to put milk in my cereal, ate half of it dry before I noticed. I snapped at my husband for leaving his coffee mug on the counter, which is stupid— I leave mugs all over the house too. Sometimes when the baby’s been screaming for ten minutes and I’ve changed him, fed him, rocked him, and he won’t stop, I just set him down in his playpen and stand in the hallway for a minute, just breathing. I feel so guilty about it, but I need that one minute. Last week I ate an entire frozen pepperoni pizza standing up at 3 a.m. while he nursed, because I was so hungry I thought I was gonna pass out. Crumbs in my pajamas, grease on my sweatpants, didn’t even bother to heat it up all the way. No one posts about that, right? The messy, ugly parts when you’re just surviving.
I don’t have any advice to give. I don’t have some big “this too shall pass” inspirational wrap-up to tie this all together. I know it will pass, eventually. He’ll sleep through the night one day, probably when he’s 12 and I’m begging him to wake up for school. Right now I don’t really care about eventually. Right now I’m tired. I’m tired of smiling and nodding when people ask how the baby’s sleeping and saying “oh, he’s getting better!” when he’s actually up three times a night.
I just want to know if anyone else is going through this. Anyone else whose baby wakes up screaming like his world’s ending for no discernible reason? Anyone else who’s tripped over laundry, baked apologetic cookies for neighbors, cried in the hallway just to get one minute to themselves? It feels like everyone I know either has a baby that sleeps through the night or they’re lying about it. I’m not lying. This sucks. I love my kid more than anything I’ve ever loved, but this part really sucks. And I just need to know I’m not the only one.
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