Other than a few minor issues with bedtime rituals and late night visits, we've got a pretty soundly sleeping household, which means when some little person's sleep schedule goes awry, all hell breaks loose.
Believe me, it wasn't always this way. I've certainly suffered through months, even years of terrible sleepers. But oddly enough, when things are bad, you tend to get used to them. And when things are good, even the minor 10:30pm screaming like she's being attacked by a rabid bat interruptions seem like the complete end of the world.
I don't have any issues with CIO and have implemented it with much success when developmentally appropriate.
(How do you like my professional sounding disclaimer, eh?).
And really, I've learned that you can sort of tell when the CIO is actually going to work or if it's just a means to a very bad, still wide awake and now hating you end, which is what has been happening for the last few nights.
A few nights ago, Margot woke up right as I was headed to bed, doing her aforementioned batshitcrazy screams that wouldn't stop, most likely due to the belated 18 month sleep regression and her two-year-old molars or one of those things that they try to make you feel better by. Just google "teething 22 month old sleep regression?" and you'll find someone, somewhere who says "Yep, it's a sleep regression and good luck but one day they'll wake up talking in sentences with the uncanny ability to chew beef jerky and it will all be worth it."
Yeah, fuck that.
But needless to say, her cries could not be quelled. Not with a rock and a pat. Or a few idle threats. Or with me pretending that she had stopped while I took a quick shower and a pee.
And so, I resolved to bringing her mattress into my room, at which point she walked right in, plopped right down, and slept soundly until the morning.
Whatever. I got rest. The end.
So then Daddy came home and she proceeded to do the same exact thing at which point he went in, probably did the same rock, pat, idle, threat combination that didn't work for me. But instead, he brought her into our room.
And into our bed. On top of his body.
He might as well just start handing out candy for dinner around here because hell if I'm going to compete with that bullshit. And then, when I gave him a hearty, but delirious chastising, he put her down next to me, which while a littttle better than her on him was not exactly the resolution I was seeking.
By that point, his effort to effectively place her onto her own mattress on our floor like I had so successfully done the night before was moot.
And really, I can't blame her.
The kid just got a bowl full of candy, dude. She doesn't want your macaroni and cheese no matter how much Velveeta you piled on there.