About three weeks ago we took Barret to his six month check up. This was a wonderful treat for us for many reasons, one of them being we finally have a doctor that we like; and she made me, for the first time in my short term of fatherhood, look like a genius. She told us that it is time to let Barret start screaming it out a little bit at night, a direction I had been begging to hear for a few weeks. Before the calls to DCFS are made to remove me as a father, understand that we still check on him to make sure his head isn't stuck in between the railings of his crib or anything, but instead instilling a slight amount of, what some would call independence to our son. Or what I would call, a full nights sleep. This thus far has not really gone as well as desired. The first night we tried it, an hour later he was still screaming. Strike one on us. We have tried a few other times since and were foiled again and again.
This all leads up to last night. After dealing with a horrible Sunday night, seeing Barret sleep from 8pm-10:15pm and from 1:15am-4:30am, something was going to have to change. B has not been feeling very well the last few days, as evident by the never ending flow of the gooey like fluid substance flowing from his nose and the constant coughing and sneezing (although I have to believe most of he coughing is his ploy to garner a little bit more attention). But hey it works, maybe I should try that too! So after a night of little sleep for me and less sleep for mom we decided to give it a try, one more time. We laid him down about 8pm, and at 8:02 the first cries were heard. At 8:10 I used the stealth tactics that made Rambo so deadly in First Blood, to locate the pacifier that had gone rogue from B's mouth and reinserted it into his crying mouth, moments later silence, as my little man crashed after a day of no sleep quickly came to its close. But, alas 3:30am rolls around and so does our little mans appetite. While we don't want to reinforce middle of the night eating, with teeth coming in and the cold beating on Mr. B, depriving him of a sense of comfort seemed a bit too harsh.
After a brief eating session it seemed as though our little guy had drifted off to sleep once again. Right as mom and dad were about to join him we again heard the calls of our little man. As we laid in bed I reassured my wife that he would be OK and that he needed to learn to put himself back to sleep. At first they simply seemed like cries of annoyance, but as they continued to increase in strength, as well as frequency I decided it was time to pull out the Rambo one last time. As I stealthily entered the dark room I made my way towards his crib. In order to remain unseen, I bent down to swoop my arm quickly around what few blankets I could see in hopes of finding the missing pacifier. Instead of striking gold on my blind swoop I struck my son, right in the side of the torso. Turns out he decided that he would stand up! Holding the side of the crib to get a look around the dark room he found himself stuck and couldn't seem to get back down. Instead of sitting down he screamed, and while trying to be a good dad, I left my son stranded, crib side, as I was determined to teach him something. I did actually teach him something: that dad is often wrong, and while I try to grow him and teach him new things I will inevitably do more harm then good. It is a good thing that he has a Good and Perfect Father in heaven who will grow him and teach him new things, that will be painful but at the same time infinitely beneficial. How awesome is it that while I am making my son suffer for no real reason He can still use it to show how Good He is.
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