I want to stop. I do. I truly do.
I want to hear her cry from that crib and leave her in there to cry, but my heart intervenes every single night.
Gracen has not slept one full night in her crib since she was born. She has slept next to Matt and I in our bed, like a constant and persistent little gate keeper. Depending on her mood we sleep well, or we don't sleep at all. She moves left, she moves right, she wiggles, she rocks, she grabs her feet and whines until sleep takes over her tiny body.
Matt asks me every single night one single question, when? When are we going to sleep train her?
He asks me as if I'm enjoying my nightly routine of whipping out my breast one after the other presenting them to her after her bath, after her first and second attempt at sleep in her crib, after I have worked 10 hours in an edit room, and after I have pumped three bottles, made Gracen's breakfast, lunch, and his dinner.
When? He stares at me blankly.
When I can reason with her and that seems totally reasonable.
