As many of you know, I'm not a big fan of lacy white bassinets (or anything lacy, for that matter). A month or so before she was born, Kim had made Lilah a beautiful Moses basket to sleep in. It was lined with green fleece and a cute brown embroidered owl. It had a removable brown pad about an inch or so thick to sleep on. I was thrilled I could take it out and wash it if the situation arose (and no doubt, it would). To cover her up, it had a matching green fleece blanket with another charming little owl. I couldn't wait to bring my baby home, plop her in it, and go to bed for two hours before having to get up and feed her.
When we finally brought her home, we were a little unsure of what to do. The hospital had been straightforward enough. From birth, she had boycotted the strange plastic bin they toss the babies in. I could sympathize not wanting to feel like you're in an aquarium, so I had her in bed with me the whole time and she slept like a rock (a strange expression, since rocks are inanimate and don't sleep or do anything else, for that matter). I wasn't allowed to sleep with her in bed, in case I rolled over and squashed her. I thought that was ridiculous. I was acutely aware of every sigh, breath, and squeak that came from the foreign little bundle in my arms. Every nurse and aid that came in the room stressed the same points over and over - "Don't sleep with your baby. You'll kill it", "Put your baby in a basket or cradle or you'll kill it", "Put your baby to sleep on its back or you'll kill it". I was beginning to think babies were very susceptible to the elements and likely to drop dead at any point. So when we brought her home, I dutifully put her in her basket next to the bed and laid down to sleep. My head hadn't even hit the pillow when she started to cry. "No no, they sleep for two hours, *then* they wake up to cry, " I thought. "That's what new babies do. All the books say so." I picked her up to lull her back to sleep. This consisted of me rocking her and shushing her softly while she stared at me happily with very awake-looking eyes. I was beginning to get horrified. "What if I have one of those defective ones that confuse day with night, like all my Alzheimer's residents?" I recalled many a night at the nurse's station being asked by one angry man with a walker, "WHERE are my car keys!?" every 5 minutes for hours on end (this is how my brain was functioning after 40 hours of no sleep). I tucked her safely and securely in her basket again. I hadn't even turned around before she started wailing again. Dano and I looked at each other with dread. "What do we do?" he asked. "How the hell should I know? I've never done this before!" I thought. "I'm not sure," I told him. "She slept just fine in the hospital." Then it dawned on me. She slept with me in the hospital. I decided to just let her fall asleep in my arms, then transplant her into her basket. We all snuggled down into the bed, and Dano drifted swiftly off to sleep. "Jerk," I thought. I watched Lilah's eyes get droopier by the second. "Only a few more minutes until I can finally sleep."
We all woke up at 4:00 AM when she woke up to eat (after going to bed at 11:00). I was relieved and a little surprised to find my newborn daughter still alive. I fed her and tucked her next to me again, wondering at the fact she hadn't woken up screaming for food every two hours. "Maybe she's broken." She didn't wake up again until the next morning at 9:00. In finding that I could get zero sleep and let her scream in her basket all night, or let her sleep between us in my arms and get nearly a full night's sleep, I chose the irresponsible, selfish option. "Don't do that!" People would tell me often. "She'll be 5 and still in bed with you!" If having a 5 year old in bed with me meant 10 hours of nearly uninterrupted sleep, that was fine with me. "Your husband will resent you. You'll never be able to have sex again!" Again, see above.
When she was 8 weeks old, she let us put her down without bursting into pitiful, lonely cries for the first time in her short life. We decided to try the basket again. She slept in it half the night, then wanted to be in the bed after her middle of the night (and only) feeding. Over the past month since then, she's stayed in her basket a little longer each night. Two nights ago, I woke up feeling rested and refreshed, and heard birds singing in the sunshine out the window. I leaned down to give Lilah her morning kiss and greeting - "Good morning, beautiful baby!" - to find that she wasn't there. I flung aside the blankets to see if she'd weaseled her way somewhere else. No Lilah. I was frantic. I leaned over the side of the bed to see if she'd fallen off and died during the night. Instead, I saw her supine, limp little body in her basket. "She's dead. She died of SIDS during the night," was where my brain immediately went. I snatched her up and held my poor baby close to my chest. She her eyes snapped open confusedly and she scowled at me. She had been sleeping? She slept in her basket all night? That seemed much more unlikely to me than her dying in her sleep.
I asked Ann later if I was ridiculous for being so worried, for immediately jumping to Lilah being injured or dead, rather than happily sleeping in her basket (which was a goal we'd been working toward for 13 weeks). She said it was very natural, and she had continued checking to make sure her children were breathing well into their teens. After I got over the initial shock, I celebrated. Not only did my baby sleep through the night from birth (as long as she was being held), she was doing it alone in her basket at 3 months! Then I thought the same thing I always do when I realize what an exceptionally good baby we've been blessed with - "Our next baby will be Devil's spawn..."
