Going into battle...

Last night, Joel and I put on our helmets and our flack jackets. We donned our camouflage pants and our steel-tipped boots. We packed our MREs and canteens full of water. We were going to war. The was a war against an intelligent enemy. An enemy well versed in mental as well as physical combat tactics. An enemy not willing to back down. Our enemy? A 23-pound baby named Brice Samuel.

If you read my post yesterday and have keeping up with this blog in general, you probably are aware of the sleep issues that we have encountered with Brice since... well... birth. He has never been a good sleeper. Never been a self soother. All that changed at 9:30pm on Wednesday, August 26. Brice would be a bad sleeper no more.

Joel and I settled into bed at about 9pm as we were exhausted from the sleepless Tuesday night we suffered through. At 9:30, Brice started to cry. I waited about 10 minutes. The crying persisted. I went in to check on him. Diaper was on, binky was in, blankies were in hand. He was fine. I knew he wasn't hungry as he'd had a full dinner of oatmeal, pears, peas and cheerios at 6pm followed by an 8oz bottle at 7pm. I gave my little man a smooch on the forehead and I did the unthinkable. I walked out and closed the door.

Joel and I sat in bed for another two hours listening to Brice cry, talk, moan, kick the mattress, whatever. He didn't cry the whole time which made the process a bit more tolerable. He would quiet down for a good 20-30 minutes before starting to sob again. At around 10:30 I thought that I might break. The stress of listening to him was giving me severe heartburn and I'll admit, I was under the impression that it would never end. The sun would rise and we would still be there, awake, listening to him.

At 11pm Joel tapped me on the shoulder. Silence. Brice was asleep. He gave a fist pump to the heavens (we had both been praying to God for about an hour by that point), rolled over and fell asleep. I would say that it took me another hour or so to really believe that Brice was down for the count before I too drifted off to bed.

My eyes opened and as I rubbed the sleep away, I realized that the sun was out. I fumbled for the clock and when I look at it, I nearly did a double back flip off the bed. It was 6:15am! Brice was awake and talking to his toys in his crib. No tears. No flesh wounds. Hopefully no therapy when he's 40 to help him cope with childhood abandonment issues caused by his parents letting him cry it out.

I ran to his room and scooped him up out of his crib, lifted him atop my shoulder and carried him back into our bedroom, humming them Rocky theme music. Our son was victorious! He was a champion! We smothered him with kisses and told him how proud we were of his wonderful night of sleep. He rewarded Joel by popping his drooly binky into Joel's mouth. At least he knows how to share.

As we were walking out of the house this morning for work, Joel turned to me and said, "maybe he'll only cry for an hour tonight!?!" We know that it begins again this evening. The fight continues on until we have a tear free night. But for today. we rule. In Joel's mind the scoreboard reads:

Mom and Dad: 1
Brice: 225