We’ve come a long way with Minor on sleep. By my account, we’ve progressed through the following stages:

Week 1:  Only slept while being held upright

Weeks 2 - 5:  Would fall asleep in car seat on floor while being fed bottle, depriving me of maternal sensation of holding and rocking baby to sleep

Weeks 6 - 9: Might fall asleep in car seat, stroller, or Bjorn, but each night was a crapshoot.

Weeks 10 - 11:  Fell asleep easily and permitted transfer to crib but woke every 45 minutes

Week 12, Days 1 and 2:  Fell asleep, angelically, while being held, rocked, and sung to; permitted transfer to crib; slept 4 hours at a stretch

Which brings us to the time period spanning Week 12, Day 3 to the present. Minor flails.  He takes a bottle nicely but struggles to be held upright as soon as it is over, and he flails. He slams his little head down on my chest:  left, right, left, right. He arches his back and throws out his arms as though parting the Red Sea, and cries. He flops back down again and digs his microscopic yet strangely sharp nails into my neck. He thrashes his head. If I hold him on his back or face down, he cries. Sometimes he burps, but then he goes back to flailing.

When this happens, my Id, Ego, and Superego have a little dialogue (trialogue?).

My Id says, “Dude…” (because Ids are male; what else would they be?) “…dude, this has gone on long enough. Bail. Just put him down and let him scream. What’s the difference if he’s crying in your arms or alone in the crib? You could be getting so much else done. Or having a glass of wine. Dude, totally do it.”

My Superego sounds like Maude Flanders channeled through Dr. Sears. “Your baby needs you! You must hold him and comfort him through this. What kind of a mother are you that you can’t hold on for another half hour? You can’t abandon him to cry alone in the dark! Think of the chiiiiildren!”

And my Ego rationalizes, “Well, holding him for an hour hasn’t worked, so maybe he needs to be on his own for a bit to fall asleep. If he’s still crying after five minutes, you can go back in, and it probably won’t scar him for life. And if he does learn to fall asleep on his own, bedtimes will be less traumatic for both of you.”

So, basically, my Id wins, but my Ego couches the reason in rational terms. And you know what they say about rationalizations.

The thing is, long after the outcome is decided–Minor passes out in a minute and a half, vindicating me, or he continues to scream, vindicating Maude–the debate continues to rage, rage in my head. “You’re a good mother.” “You’re a bad mother.” “You’re good enough—considering these conditions.” On and on–the guilt.

I think I need to Ferberize the voices in my head.