I have to make a decision. I hate making decisions.
I feel in my gut that it’s time to wean Zoe. She’s almost 14 months, eating big girl food, drinking big girl milk. Walking everywhere. Chasing and giggling at the dog, the cat, her sisters.
I didn’t have this tough decision weighing on my with the big girls. They practically weaned themselves. Granted we aided them by replacing their morning and night time nursing sessions with milk, and before I knew it, we were down to a 60 second snack around 11 to help get them from breakfast to lunch. They’d tumble into my lap, get what they needed, and be on their merry way. And then they were done.
I was okay with it. I knew it was time for them. We were all ready.
And now I think Zoe’s ready. She doesn’t really “eat” anymore. She’s here for comfort.
Maybe on the days she wakes up too early, we sit and doze together in the chair, listening to the early morning birds outside her window. Okay, sometimes you can catch me tweeting, checking email, or thumbing through my reader. But these days are rare. Usually it’s up and straight to the highchair for breakfast.
As nap time rolls around, she again lays on my lap, falling asleep mere seconds after latching on. I indulge her for a while, enjoying the silence and darkness of her room, before transitioning her seamlessly to her bed, where she curls up with her butt in the air and instinctively throws an arm out, searching for her doll.
At bedtime she usually hangs out in my lap, enjoying her snack, her kicking legs preventing me from typing anything on my phone (aka “why I don’t leave as many blog comments as I would like”). She rarely falls asleep here anymore, and we snuggle for a bit before I place her in her bed with her baby and her blanket, turn her light out and her white noise on, and leave the room with a soft “Good night.”
But it’s the night times that worry me. She still wakes up one, two, sometimes even three times. After the normal “wait to see if she’ll go back to sleep” period, I trudge in there, check her diaper, and juggle the pillow and blanket as she cries and impatiently points to the chair, seemingly in the throws of starvation.
60 seconds later, she’s asleep in my lap.
We do this again later that night. And again sometime around 6 (after which she thankfully goes back to bed for another hour or more).
She doesn’t need the food. She wants the comfort.
She’s my last baby.
How am I to deny her that?
|Super cute. Super loud.|
Now you get to help me out! What would you do? Should I:
- Try giving her a sippie of milk to see if that helps?
- Send Dad in to do the dirty work? (This one won’t last. He’ll either get frustrated and call me in to calm her down with my “natural methods,” or she’ll fall asleep, only to wake again 20 minutes later.)
- Try letting her *gulp* cry it out? I’m not trying to start a debate here. I’m pro CIO if it needs to be done. We’ve done this before with all of our children for various reasons that are well justified, and it’s worked. But a) sometimes going in and nursing her for 15 minutes is easier than listening to her cry for an hour; b) her cries get to me more than her sisters’ did; and c) girlfriend is LOUD. Like seriously loud.
- Give her a paci? This one seems a little regressive. She gave that up at 4 months the first time we did CIO to help her learn to go to sleep on her own. After she got it down, further attempts at the paci just resulted in her chewing on it or playing with it.
Aaaaand there she is. Right on cue.