too tired to sleep.

My darling, I don't know why you won't sleep, or can't sleep. I don't know how to make it better and give you rest for your weary, little body. I don't know why the dark purple circles under your beautiful eyes only seem to deepen with every nap and every night. I don't know how to help you sleep better, but I'm trying to figure it out.

I've read more website articles than I can remember, and I've asked other mommies for help. The books say the same things as the websites, but even so, we try it all and then try it all again. Keep it dark, spend time unwinding, play music, have white noise, don't give a bottle when he wakes up, be quiet, don't talk, try not to change him if you can help it, swaddle him, don't swaddle him, put him down a little awake, wait until he's all the way asleep, give him medicine, have him sleep slightly reclined, sleep with him close, sleep with him in the bed, let him sleep in his own room, and, of course, let him cry, let him cry, let him cry.

I hate to say it, but we've tried all of those, even the last one. Conventional wisdom says that's just what you "have" to do when your baby won't sleep, but my head says it seems cruel and my heart breaks at even the thought of you, abandoned and alone, waiting for the parents who have always come to hold you before and who surely will come this time, only, now, inexplicably, they don't. Even so, the night you were exhausted past the point of normal behavior, even for you, and you would only scream, no matter if you were being held, rocked or even left alone, we let you cry, alone. We didn't know what else to do. We sat you in your swing, with it rocking, and you screamed and screeched, alone, exhausted and miserable. After what I think was much too long, I gathered you in my arms and spoke gently in your tiny ears to calm you and sang softly until, finally, you drifted into a restless, fitful sleep.

And so, I still don't know how to help you, and it breaks my heart to see you struggle to find rest. Although we keep trying alternatives, for now it seems all we can do is hold you close and rock you until you allow yourself to settle and then hold you some more. It's not convenient. It's not comfortable. It's tiring and it certainly doesn't seem like the best solution, but, for now, it's the only one there is because nothing else has any affect.

So, for now, I will hold you close and listen to your breaths grow even and deep and wish and hope and pray that some day, you will be alright.