When my first child, Oliver, was born, he would only drift off to sleep if I held him upright in my arms, much like a football. My partner, Sarah, and I divided our nighttime duties—she usually took the first half of the night until around 3 a.m., after which I took over. Those nights felt endlessly long, filled with half-hearted TV watching, longing for some miracle solution that would ease our little one’s sleeplessness. Like countless other parents, we embarked on a quest for that elusive fix.
Our first tactic was the cry-it-out method, touted as the most effective approach for sleepless babies. However, it quickly became the hardest thing I’ve ever faced as a parent. Sarah and I debated this for weeks; she argued it was harsh while I sat there with bloodshot eyes, recalling how often I dozed off on public transport, waking up in unfamiliar places.
“I can’t take this anymore,” I finally confessed.
Eventually, we settled on giving it a try. We placed Oliver in his room and allowed him to cry. I offered comfort occasionally but never picked him up. This went on for three long nights, during which I was torn between exhaustion and emotional distress. Listening to my child cry without intervening was heartbreaking. Admittedly, he did begin to sleep soundly—for about a week—until he caught the norovirus, and everything unraveled, both physically and metaphorically.
Once he recovered, he was back in my arms every night. Strangely enough, I found this comforting. Staying up with him didn’t feel nearly as painful as letting him cry it out, so I never attempted that method again.
Fast forward nine years, and I’ve never let any of my kids cry it out. We now have three children—two girls and a boy. With each child, we’ve tried a myriad of sleep strategies. We attempted to establish a regular sleep schedule, but with work commitments and school routines, that never seemed to stick.
We experimented with various essential oils that proved about as effective as snake oil. We tried denying daytime naps, which was more exhausting than you could imagine. It felt like running a marathon without sleep while managing a cranky toddler.
We would wait for the child to exhibit signs of drowsiness, often leading us to abandon dinner preparations or academic assignments so one of us could wrestle a squirming child into submission. We even slathered them with an assortment of aromatherapy lotions infused with lavender and chamomile, feeling more like amateur masseuses than parents. Unfortunately, these lotions either made the kids giggle uncontrollably or had no impact at all—simply leaving me more exhausted than before.
What frustrated me most about these sleep strategies was the confidence that fellow parents had when recommending them. Each failure left me questioning if something was wrong with my child. My middle child, Mia, could only fall asleep if she was in her high chair, with soft music playing and no one around. While this approach caused Sarah some anxiety about her future sleep habits, I reassured her, “It’s not like she’ll still be sleeping in a high chair when she’s in college.”
As expected, I was right. Now, at ages 9 and 6, my oldest children go to bed relatively easily. Sure, they put up a fight—gnashing teeth and dragging feet—but by 8:30 p.m., they’re usually asleep, leaving me with our youngest, who is almost 2.
To get her to sleep, I play Baby Einstein: Lullaby Time on repeat, clear the room, and hold her on the couch for an hour or more. Sometimes, staying up so long feels surreal, as if I’m trapped in a bizarre dream, trying to make sense of the repetitive images and soothing classical tunes—“The train moves in a circle. Aha, I get it now.”
During those long, exhausting nights with my youngest, I remind myself that both older children eventually learned to sleep through the night. It took longer than I’d hoped, and there were many moments when Sarah and I exchanged words that could only come from two sleep-deprived individuals who love each other dearly yet can’t think straight. I reflect on what I told Sarah about Mia never sleeping in her high chair forever.
As frustrating as it is to face sleepless nights, I’ve come to realize that my children eventually figured it out. Time was the real solution. So to the parents out there grappling with their own squirmy, sleep-resistant children, take heart. The long nights are tough, but they will pass, and your little ones will eventually sleep through the night. There is hope. There is light at the end of the tunnel. The magic ingredients are unconditional love and time, both of which I’m confident you have in abundance.
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Summary
Navigating sleepless nights as a parent can feel overwhelming. Through the struggles with my children, I learned that despite trying various techniques—some effective and others not—time and love are the ultimate solutions. Every child eventually finds their rhythm, and as a parent, it’s essential to be patient and supportive. Resources are available to assist in your journey, ensuring that you’re never alone in this challenging yet rewarding experience.