So, as I had mentioned on the last post, I had spent a week at the cottage with Colin's family, sans Colin. It was AMAZING! It was such a nice pace of life, always with someone (adult that is) awake at the same time I was, always with someone to share the cooking/cleaning responsibility with. Always with the extra pair of hands to help out with the kiddies. Always with an age appropriate, temperament appropriate play mate for both of the boys (as if any right minded nine month old gives a crap about a playmate, aside from stealing their toys!)
Rohan fell asleep exhausted almost every single night, while I read stories. And by that I mean, while I was reading the story, Rohan would conk out. No fuss no muss. Dreamy. A-Rock, as if it could any better with that kid, did not even make noises of protest when I put him down for naps/to bed at night. He literally rolled over with a sigh of relief and went straight to sleep.
Three cheers for the dreamy wonderfulness that is staying at the cottage for a week. Sigh.
During our wonderful amazing stay, A-Rock mastered the art of crawling and pulling himself up to a sitting position. Is there nothing that the magic of the cottage cannot do?
But, as with all things, our dreamy vacation had to come to an end, and homeward bound we were again. After getting home, unpacking the goods, and eating our din dins, it was sleepy time for the A-Rock. As I lay him contentfully into his crib, I couldn't help but notice that it was still at the top level, the infant level as they call it. Hmmmm, I thought to myself, we need to lower that guy down now that he has become much more mobile. Yes, I though, tomorrow is the day, but for now??? Sleepytown for the baby.
Not a baby. Not a baby. Not a baby.
I stepped out of the room, closed the door, and suffered from the niggling feeling that I should just take him out, get Colin to help me lower the crib.............THEN put him back to sleep. I ignored that feeling and stepped my stupid ass down the stairs.
He cried. He cried. He HOWLED.
I decided to run up and grab him, nurse him in the bed while the crib gets lower by hubby, no sense in delaying it anymore if he wasn't going to sleep anyway.
I made it up there a hair slower than Colin. He opens the door and there is poor, distraught, beside himself, Avery, crawling toward the door................. on the floor.
A five hour stay at the hospital, comforting words and mini lecture from the nurses later, we are back home sleeping off the trauma of the day, Avery fine, except for his need to sleep on me for the night. Mama is frazzled and feels so very very stupid for not trusting those dang instincts. Stupid mom. Sorry baby!