Smooth

A few days ago, I decided that the buck stops here. It had been two weeks since my husband left and our son was still not sleeping through the night in his own bed. His ear infection had cleared up, so it was a good time to break the habit. But, it's a process, of course.

The first night went well. I spent 20 minutes around 5AM firmly, but reassuringly, coaxing my son back to sleep in his own bed. Without much fuss, he caved and slept until 7:15AM in his own bed! The next night didn't go quite as well. To make a long story short, it involved paranoia and the realization that I had to break myself of the habit of having him in bed with me as much as I had to break him of the habit. Third time's a charm, right?

Actually, yes! Last night, I set my alarm for 6AM to jumpstart my morning routine. (I had to drop my normal morning routine due to the new sleeping arrangements) I heard that alarm go off this morning and I was confused. As I slowly woke up, I realized the alarm was the starter pistol to my morning routine. My son had slept through the night. In his own bed. ALL night. My first thought was "Hallelujah!" Quickly followed by, "Oh my gosh, is he alive?!" After listening outside his door and hearing his soft baby snores, I breathed a sigh of atonished relief. The Hallelujah chorus rang in my head.

I went about my morning routine and when I came to the portion of time designated to "get dressed to [my] shoes," I stopped short. The outfit I needed to wear was out in my car. No big deal. I mentally reminded myself to turn off the alarm so as not to wake my son and put on my shoes. I opened the front door and was immediately blind. I froze and tried to collect my thoughts. An unbelievably loud sound shook the house and reverberated in my ears. I raced to the alarm pad and frantically punched in the code praying it would bring silence before my eardrums burst. Finally, piercing silence reigned while utter chaos resounded in my head. As my heart raced, I aimed my hearing toward my son's room, sure that screams would be coming from that direction. Nothing. Just piercing silence. Confused and still a bit disoriented, I made my way to my son's room. Again nothing. I opened the door and all I heard was the soft purr of baby snores.

The scene from Mr. Holland's Opus with the firetruck horn and the sleeping baby in the stroller quickly replayed in my mind. How could I not notice if my son were deaf? My phone rang and I jumped. I retrieved it from the bedroom and gave the alarm company the necessary information which tells them "No, there's no emergency. It's just silly me!" As soon as I spoke aloud, my son began to cry. "So he's not deaf!" I rejoiced in my heart. "Smoooooth...now he's awake and I haven't even finished my routine."

Thankfully, after some prodding, he did go back to sleep and allowed me to finish my routine. In fact, he's still asleep. Maybe I should go listen for those baby snores...