Sleep Trained

Will is TDY all week, which means I'll probably be seeking solace in blogging frequently over the course of the next few days. (TDY stands for Temporary Duty(?) Assignment---where the Y comes from still sort of confuses me---which basically just means Will is in Alabama again for more training.) So here I am, because, you know, instead of blathering to my husband directly, I get to do it through this here blog! That's in addition to my other TDY staples of not shaving my legs and eating the same thing for every meal to clear out the pantry/avoid going to the commissary. (Last time it was pancakes, this time it's pasta.)

Right now I need to give a huge shout out to Lauren for rescuing me today. Little Will is in this phase where he (a) loves to be entertained, (b) gets quite cranky if you're not energetically entertaining him, (c) is appeased only by being picked up and carried around, (d) squirms happily in all directions upon being picked up, and (e) oh yeah, weighs 20 pounds. And, NO, he will not be worn in a carrier. Fuggetaboudit. 

It is an exhausting thing. 

So as I was saying Lauren came over and held/fed/entertained said squirmy/spirited/fat baby while I threw together a dinner of pesto pasta (duh) and any and all vegetables found in the fridge and pantry. She's a real catch. 

Anyway, the title of this post is such a teaser, eh? Because guess who is sleep trained?!?!?!?!?!???!

Him? No, not him. 

Nope, still not him.

I'm referring to myself.

You see, baby Will did not need to be sleep trained. He just needed his CRAZY MOTHER to stop rushing in to rescue him at every peep so that he could actually get some shut-eye. If that broad would just allow him a minute to re-settle, he would keep sleeping. 

Once I decided to "sleep train," the longest he cried was 12 minutes. I did two checks total the first night and the next night he slept 11 hours straight without a peep. And naps are so much better. He had a 1.5 hour nap and a 2.5 hour nap today, so that I could bill some hours for my side gig. 

I mean, really, Theresa? Chalk it up, once again, to inexperience. 

"You really don't know what you're doing, do you?"

Fine, maybe I'm jinxing the whole situation and he will wake up tonight, but really, the fact that he's night weaned is pretty significant in and of itself. In the irrational fog of sleep deprivation, I thought the day would never come. I straight cackled when the pediatrician mentioned we try to (whilst baby Will passed all the gas his little pooper could muster). We are a veritable duo, we are.

Now if I could just figure out how to train myself to keep up with the 34 peekaboos, 38 itsy bitsy spiders, and 57 pat-a-cakes per diem William Hugh requires, then---I tell you---then we will really be in business.