This week marks our first foray into the world of sleep training. I'm now having to pay the price for initially taking the easy way out and nursing the Muffin Man to sleep for the last six months. I didn't intend to create a habit that is so hard to break, but I was sleep deprived and willing to do anything to get my kiddo to nap/sleep, and nursing always did the trick. Unfortunately, I also created a child who is now unable to fall asleep without sucking on a boob (as my Husband says, "do you blame him? That's every man's fantasy."). So now I am in the thick of listening to Noah wail as he attempts to put himself to sleep. Yes, it's as terrible as it sounds, if not worse. Here's the thing that makes it so hard: while I know I'm ultimately doing the right thing and teaching him how to fall asleep on his own, the Hubs is a big ol' softee who runs in to rescue Noah as soon as he makes a peep. For those readers who don't know my husband, let me paint a picture for you: he's six feet tall, 195 pounds, has a black belt in karate and once used super glue to put his finger back together when he sliced the tip off on Thanksgiving; the only thing the man is a wimp about is listening to our son cry. So while I'm toeing the line and letting Noah howl when I'm home alone with him, whenever Chris is home the little guy gets picked up, cuddled and fed an extra bottle, during which he looks at me with this glint in his eye like, "Ha ha, I win! I've got Daddy under my control!" I figure eventually I will manage to provide Chris with enough articles full of medical evidence proving that I am not damaging our son by forcing him to put himself to sleep, but until then I'm afraid I'm fighting a losing battle. On the bright side, I suppose in 15 years or so there'll be plenty of girls who will be thrilled to have a guy suck on their boobs before bed.
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