sleep tight, little one.

Wild Horses - The Sundays

We have had a trying week in the sense that, seemingly overnight, my son has developed an aversion to sleeping.

Perhaps I rightfully deserve all of the blame, as I was openly sharing my excitement about Ethan's fantastic sleeping habits. Seven hours a night? Perfectly timed naps? Me having ample time to clean and organize my entire kitchen from floor to ceiling? It seems I've learned the meaning of the word "jinx" and, oh, what a cruel, cruel lesson it was.

Ethan is a smiling, giggling, happy angel of a child -- unless he goes a week without napping and sleeping an hour here, an hour there during the evening. Then he becomes red-eyed, cranky, whiny and eager to pull your hair and take several points off of your emotional stability. He decided that if he wasn't going to sleep, the only way he'd remotely relax was in my arms while I sang and danced to our Counting Crows station on Pandora. I should preface this by saying that I'm certainly not a dancer and, even moreso, am certainly not a singer. I'm sure that my tone-deaf singing voice bounces off of our walls and into our neighbors homes and sends them hiding under their desks, hands cupping their ears and begging for sweet mercy. Nevertheless, Ethan decided he enjoyed my singing and wouldn't settle for anything less than my fine repertoire of '90's rock or folk songs. You should hear my Jewel medley or -- wait, no, you shouldn't. For the sake of your sanity, you shouldn't be subjected to that. I almost pierce my own eardrums.

After hours of singing and dancing (and thus the realization why Mick Jagger is so skinny), I put him down in his swing or his bassinet. He's asleep. His eyes are closed. I slowly back away and there it comes: the quivering bottom lip. The soft, heaving sighs. Slowly they morph into cries and wide open eyes, staring at me with disappointment that the Dance-A-Thon ever stopped.

Today was no different. We were on yet another day of no naps and faulty nighttime sleep schedules. I had to go to the bathroom. I tried to forget about it but I couldn't, not with all of that dancing around the living room. I apologized to a crying Ethan and put him in his swing, reassuring him that I just had to pee and I'd only be a minute. His sad eyes and quivering bottom lip followed me until I ran down the hall to empty my bladder. When I walked out of the bathroom?

Yeah, he was asleep.

...And asleep he stayed, until it was time for his next feeding. I think I stared at him for a good ten minutes just out of sheer disbelief. Jewel played on in the background with my accompanying vocals (I'm fairly certain my neighbors were rejoicing in the streets) and on he slept.

Tonight at bedtime, I wrapped him in his swaddle, kissed him goodnight and placed him down to sleep. After a week of crying and fussing and fighting and prying his heavy eyes open quite literally with his hands? He simply shut his eyes and fell asleep. Tonight I'm lulled to sleep by the sound of his soft sighs and breathing, the peacefulness and tranquility of his (eagerly anticipated) slumber.