I’m feeling defeated. I’m sitting here on the couch downstairs after trying to get my son to sleep for the last three hours. I’m now watching him on the monitor, sitting up, wide awake. He took a nice little nap around hour one-and-a-half, and then decided to wake up. I don’t know what else to do to get him to sleep. I suppose when it gets fully dark outside he’ll realize it’s nighttime and we can try again.
It’s like this at the end of every weekend. Every Sunday night I look forward to going back to work on Monday because I’m completely drained by a marathon bedtime routine on Sunday evening. I find myself longing for the routines of daycare for him, and work for me. At daycare he will eat, sleep and poop at regular intervals; a far cry, it seems, from our carefree, often routine-less weekends. Weekends spent as a family are fun, but we all seem to function better during the weekdays.