I recently had the opportunity to experience what it is like to sleep with me.
I was babysitting an adorable eleven-month-old baby and, as it neared 8:30 PM, I changed his diaper, made a bottle and fed him while rocking him.
As I did so I admired his ability to drink while sleeping. If I did that I would get both cut off and kicked out of a bar.
Once he finished the bottle he started to coo a little so I rocked him and sang to him. He would appear to be falling asleep but then he would open his eyes, smile and babble something completely incoherent. Then, he would move around a bit – tossing and turning – in an attempt to find a comfortable position, kicking off the blanket and his socks.
Between the eyes wide open, smiling, cooing, wiggling and hot flashing, he would take power naps. Some naps were a minute, other more powerful naps were ten minutes.
When I felt he was tired/asleep enough to put him in the crib I would gently lay him down and quickly discover that he, like me, wakes right up when moving from one sleeping spot to the next.
After more than an hour of rocking and singing, I decided to put him in his crib and let him fall asleep on his own. He cried a little, but not much in my opinion (pretty sure MiniMe and I’ve Noticed agreed). His parents soon came home, couldn’t bear to hear him cry, and immediately pulled him out of bed. This is where me and an eleven-month-old differ – nobody (especially my parents) pulls me out of bed when I can’t sleep and, lacking both estrogen and emotion, I don’t cry. Instead, I just get up, find a snack, and watch TV.