My 8-month-old decided sleep is optional and I forgot what 4 hours of uninterrupted rest feels like
It’s 1:22 a.m. and I’m sitting on my kitchen floor, leaning against the lower cabinet, drinking coffee that I brewed at 7 p.m. and left on the counter when the baby started screaming 20 minutes ago. It’s lukewarm and a little bitter, but I don’t have the energy to make a new pot. This is my third night in a row up at this time, and I’ve started leaving a pack of saltine crackers on the floor next to the toaster, just in case. You learn to plan for the chaos when you’ve got an 8-month-old who turned his previously acceptable sleep schedule into confetti.
A month ago, we were doing fine. I know that’s what everyone says, right? We hit the golden streak: 7 p.m. to 5 a.m., straight through, no wakeups, no crying. I started actually finishing a whole TV episode without pausing. I booked a hair appointment for mid-November, no bringing the baby along in the car seat. I even bought a new concealer, the fancy kind that doesn’t crease, because I thought I didn’t need the super heavy coverage for under-eye bags anymore. Stupid. So stupid. I should have known the sleep gods were just lulling me into a false sense of security. Two days after he turned 8 months, it all fell apart.
Now he wakes up every 90 minutes. Not little quiet fusses where he finds his pacifier and goes back. Full-blooded, red-faced screaming, like he just remembered he’s alive and he’s furious about it. Last weekend I tried that cry-it-out thing everyone on my mom’s group keeps recommending. I sat outside his door, set a timer for 10 minutes, told myself I could do this. By minute 7, I was crying right along with him, my hands pressed to the door because I thought maybe he was hurt, maybe he choked on a sock he stuffed in his crib, maybe something terrible happened. I opened the door and he was standing up, holding the rail, snot all over his face, and he just grinned at me like he won. Which he did, obviously. I picked him up and we rocked on the glider for 45 minutes, and I didn’t have the heart to put him back down.
My calves hurt so bad all the time now, because the only way he settles is if I stand up holding him, bouncing slightly, humming that stupid Baby Shark song under my breath. If I so much as lower my butt to the glider seat, his eyes pop open and the screaming starts again. I went to the drugstore yesterday and bought those ugly beige compression socks, the kind my grandma used to wear, because my legs were aching so bad I could barely climb the stairs. They make my ankles look like overstuffed sausages, but who cares? I’m the only one who sees them at 2 a.m. When the health visitor stopped by on Tuesday, she gave me the whole “drowsy but awake” speech, nodded and smiled when I said I was trying. After she left, I dropped a full bowl of oatmeal on the floor because my hands were shaking from lack of sleep, and I just left half of it there for an hour because I couldn’t bend over to clean it up. My cat ate most of it, so that worked out, I guess.
People keep asking if it’s separation anxiety, or teething, or the 8-month sleep regression, and yeah, probably all of the above. I don’t really need a fancy label for it, though. It just is what it is. I saw my friend post a photo on Instagram yesterday of her 8-month-old asleep in his own crib, in his own room, caption that said “We nailed sleep training! So proud of my big boy!” I liked it, I even commented “Yay!”, but then I closed the app and sat there on the couch while my baby latched onto my chest for the third time that night, and I felt that little twist in my chest, like I was messing this all up. But then an hour later, he fell asleep on my shoulder, and his little breath was warm through my sweatshirt, and he had that baby smell that’s just milk and clean laundry, and I didn’t even mind that my arm was falling asleep. It’s bad, but it’s not all bad. That’s the thing no one tells you, right? It can be the most tiring thing you’ve ever done and still feel soft sometimes.
I stopped trying to follow the schedule, anyway. I used to be so strict about 7 p.m. bedtime, no screens, no exceptions, just the right routine of bath, book, feed, bed. Now if he’s extra wired, we just sit on the couch and watch half an episode of Bluey, even if it’s past 7. I know all the experts say that’s a bad habit, but I’d rather both of us be calm than both of us screaming for an hour trying to force him to sleep at the “right” time. I leave a sippy cup of water and a pack of gummy bears next to the glider now, too, so I don’t have to trudge all the way to the kitchen when I’m half asleep, which means I don’t trip over that giant stuffed moose my mom got him that’s half his size. That’s the only good little trick I’ve got, honestly. Just leave snacks where you need them. Everything else is just guessing.
This morning I dropped him off at daycare and I realized I put my sweatshirt on inside out, and a big dried splotch of sweet potato that was on the inside was now facing out. The teacher just smiled and took him from me, and I didn’t even bother to turn it around. I’m too tired to care about weird stains. Last week I sent an email to my boss at 3 a.m. while I was rocking him back to sleep, and I accidentally attached a photo I took of the baby’s bare butt instead of the budget spreadsheet I was supposed to send. I didn’t even notice until she wrote back “No worries, he’s very cute 😊” and I wanted to crawl into a hole, but what can you do? I’m running on 12 hours of total sleep split over 4 days, I’m allowed to mess up emails.
I don’t know when this is going to end. People say it gets better in a week, or two weeks, or a month, but no one can tell me for sure. I wasted $25 on one of those star projectors for his ceiling, and he just stares at the stars for 10 minutes then starts screaming anyway, so that’s that. Some days I cry in the shower because I can’t remember if I took out the trash or brushed my teeth or paid the electric bill. Some days I just hold him while he naps and I think I’ll miss this when he’s older and doesn’t want to cuddle up to my shoulder anymore. Right now, the baby’s asleep in his crib, and it’s been almost 2 hours already, which is a win. My coffee’s gone cold, and my compression socks are starting to itch, and I think I’m gonna go try to get a couple minutes of sleep before the next wakeup. That’s all I’ve got today. No big advice, no neat happy ending. Just a sleepy mom, a baby who doesn’t want to sleep, and a pack of saltines on the kitchen floor.
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