To the mom whose baby doesn’t sleep,
This is a hard season. Is there anything more maddening than having a tiny baby who needs sleep, yet just refuses?
Why? you ask yourself as you pace and rock and shush and swaddle. None of it yields results.
Why? you ask as you lay the baby in their crib, removing your arms and hands from underneath them in slow motion. You hold your breath. You crawl out of the room. They wake.
Why? you ask as you try to sit down in the rocking chair while holding them, your thighs burning as you attempt the world’s slowest squat, and the baby wakes. They know. They always know.
Why? you scream when by some miracle, they were actually sleeping, but then someone rang the doorbell and now naptime is over.
I see you doing the research and trying all the tips. I see you buying blackout curtains and the newest type of swaddle. I see you making a schedule and setting timers. I see you ripping up the schedule. I see you making a new one.
I see you with a forced, tight smile as you listen to your mom friends talk about how their babies sleep through the night or take great naps or fall asleep in their highchairs (HOW!?).
I see you questioning yourself. Don’t. If no one else has told you this yet, let me be the one to do it: Sometimes you can do everything right, and the baby still won’t sleep. You can’t force them to do it. And unfortunately, they’re too young to understand bribes.
All you can do is your best. You can talk to your doctor. You can try best practices. You can pray. You can call a friend who gets it and rant. You can step outside and scream into the void. You can love them. Deeply. And that’s it. The rest is up to that tiny, wide-awake baby.
I so wish we were sitting together at my kitchen table, drinking our fifth cup of coffee for the day, swapping our war stories. I’d hold the baby for you. I’d tell you the truth you already know: You are not alone. You are a good mom. And one day, that precious baby will sleep. Maybe that day isn’t coming as soon as we want, but it’s coming, dear friend. It’s coming. You’ve got this.
by Amy Bellows 
by Brooke Behrendt 
