My youngest child is 14 months old. And she has never, not once, slept through the night.
In case you’re interested, that is roughly 426 nights, straight, of broken sleep for me. Give or take a few.
My first child slept 12 hours through the night from early infancy. My second child was a bit more of a challenge because we lived across the street from a busy urban fire station, but eventually, he, too, became a twelve-hour sleeper. We put our tinies to bed at 7 o’clock, and did not hear from them until the next morning. I waxed philosophic, contemplated writing a baby sleep book to share my wisdom.
Evelynn is healthy. She hardly ever cries. She has never had a bout with colic. She is happy and delightful. She is secure. She is loved. She is a good eater. She naps consistently and well.
And she does not sleep at night.
For a long time, exhausted and sick with longing for my bed, I tried every trick and tactic to help her sleep through the night. I grappled with my ideals, finally tried out the things I always swore I would never allow, but nothing ever worked. She was up, every hour or two, every night, every night, every night.
This was what she needed, clearly, and so I began to wonder, after several months, if maybe, just maybe, God had something here, for me, too?
Grace of God, will you be here for me in this?
Read the rest of this post at Micha Boyett’s swanky new Patheos blog (you may remember her as Mama::Monk).
This is my contribution to her vital series on finding the sacred in our everyday life.