I guess I'm doing alright.

It's been one of those weeks, but I am happy to report I am doing just fine.

This week:

• We've been a one-car family.  I stayed home Tuesday through Friday, which was hard for me.  I am thankful his car will be fixed soon, that we can afford repairs, and that it was a nice week so we could spend a lot of time outside.

• I dropped my cell phone in water, but revived it overnight in a pyrex full of dry rice.  I am thankful it's alive!

• Blinds fell on my head as I was trying to open a window.  As a result, I suffered a very big bump, considered that I might have a concussion, but decided it was just a bump.  I am thankful it hit me and not Jack as I was holding him.

• Jack's fourth tooth finally broke through.  He's still not sleeping, instead he is practicing pushing up from a laying down to sitting up at every possible waking moment.  I am thankful I have a baby meeting his developmental milestones.

• The dishwasher broke.  I am thankful that it's covered under our home warranty and that I have a pair of dishwashing gloves so my hands don't get dried out!

• I am sore beyond belief from working out way too hard.  I could hardly walk due to super-tight hamstrings; every step was painful for four straight days. I am thankful for the chance to get out and take care of myself, and for a husband that stays at home with the kids so they don't have to get all germy at the childcare.

dress up.

playing school

her attentive audience

luke drives the lesson home with a bit of one-on-one help

•  I had friends from our home school group over for book club on One Thousand Gifts.  I am thankful for some adult time, yummy snacks, great conversation, and a book that is helping me count my gifts.

I had a very moving night last night with Jackson.  After very desperate attempts to get the child to sleep and stay asleep (that seems to be the trick), we continue to have good days and bad days.  Unfortunately, more bad than good at this point.  I've been so desperate, exhausting everything out there to try and catch a wink of sleep.  Crying it out has been an option I've always been vehemently opposed to, it goes against everything I believe, but we've tried it.  We've tried it the "nice" way (aka Ferber) and the awful way (shutting the door and leaving until he falls asleep).  After a few particularly horrible nights, I still feel like nothing is working, not even this.

So what's left after every single possible sleep-training technique has been tried, every book has been ready, tears have been shed and sleep has been lost?  When other mothers have been interviewed and seemingly unheard prayers have been whispered in the not-so-quiet dark?

I have no answer.  Friends remind me of my parenting motto, "Everything's a phase."  It's oddly reassuring, but in the mean time I'm left with dark bags under my eyes, a shorter-than-normal temper, a sad, sleepy, clingy baby, and the ability to fall asleep while sitting up numerous times throughout the day.

So I guess we wait it out.  Maybe the plan should be to not have a plan?

Last night I was feeling particularly calm and collected.  Jackson woke up after being asleep for 40 minutes.  I headed upstairs, feeling totally clueless about what my next step would be.  Let him cry?  Pace him around the room?  I opted to pick him up and sit down in the glider.  He was screaming and wouldn't calm down so I turned on the dim lamp and repeated his name over and over again.  He stopped crying, eyes blurry behind the tears, and looked at me.  I cradled his tense body, and his hand grabbed my face, pulling on my lip.  This is part of his calming routine, to stroke my face or my hair, but the way he was laying he wasn't able to reach my hair.  I kissed his hand over and over again.

As we rocked, he stopped making eye contact and began to stare.  He hand fell away from my face and he just stared, his eyes hardly moving.  I was silent, he was silent.  We rocked.  I cradled him like a newborn, examining each feature of his Perfectly-made body- long eyelashes, soft pale skin, a little patch of white hair above his ear.  We rocked more, I didn't want to ruin this peaceful moment.

At some point I decided to take a chance.  I laid him in his crib and sat down on the floor next to his bed, sticking my arm through the slat and patting him as he rolled around and started to fuss.  He clearly didn't want to be in his crib, but I was ready for him to sleep.  After a couple of minutes of quiet shushing, his body became still, but his toes and fingers were still curled tightly.  He settled into a side-lying position, and I patted him slowly as his body slowly relaxed.  His eyes remained open, staring blankly straight ahead.

I sat with him for a long time.  20 minutes?  45 minutes?  I have no idea.  All I know is watching him fall asleep was one of the most moving experiences of my life.  I stayed still as a statue, not wanting to interrupt this precious time as he learned that mommy was right next to him and it was safe to fall asleep in his crib.

I prayed for awhile, I stared off into space for awhile.  I thought about my agenda for the week, the things I'd like to do to improve our house.  I thought about the other kids as babies, and about my marriage with Ryan.  But mostly, I just stared at this little guy.  As his eyes started to close, his body twitched and his eyes would open wide again.  His eyes would start to close, and then he'd let out a deep sigh and wake himself up again. This happened maybe five or six times.

As I sat and watched him through the slats, I thought about how I was praying for this baby to close his eyes and fall asleep; that was all I wanted.  Then I had a horrible thought.  The image of a Mother, sitting next to a hospital bed that holds her dying baby, watching her child take deep slow breaths as he draws closer to death.  A Mother praying that her child's eyes never close.  It touched me, changed my heart, softened part of me that had been hardened from all the anger I held toward this tiny guy.  So many times I've been ungrateful for my children.  So many times I questioned God about motherhood.  Those nights I let him cry in his crib, thinking that God has to have a better plan for us than this, left me feeling confused, angry, and apathetic toward my own child's cry.  This isn't how it's supposed to be.

Jack eventually fell asleep.  I waited a few more minutes until I felt like he was in a deep sleep, but I had to pull myself from his side.  I didn't want to leave.

When he woke up two hours later, I went to him, once again not sure of how I'd handle his waking.  I picked him up and decided to rock him, this time in the dark.  When his body stilled and his breathing was again heavy, I laid him in his bed expecting him to protest, but he was silent.  I left and went back to my bed, and Jack slept for almost 6 hours.  At 5:15 AM, he woke and I brought him to my bed, nursed him, and he and I slept, nestled together until 7:45.

A good night, the start of many more good nights.  He might not sleep through the night, but I pray that my softened heart will open me up to God's grace, allowing me to be selfless and compassionate.