Give a little love and comfort.

I had to check myself today. You were tired and more than ready for bed. We sat in the bouncy chair, I fed you, you drifted to sleep without a care. A careful flip on your belly and you were happy as a clam. Twenty minutes later, we hear you cry.

"I'm not getting him" Dad says.

"You're not?" I said. I thought he meant for me to go get you.

"Can we just go in and tell him it's time for bed?"

"That's what the Ferber, cry it out, method suggests. You go in when the baby is crying, tell them you're there and that it'll be okay, but you don't touch them."

"Should we give him 10 minutes?" Dad says as he sets his phone timer.

"Sure."

Ten minutes later, you are still crying and the timer rings. I go into your bedroom and there you are standing in your crib, sobbing. Your little face is red and completely soaked with tears. You are shaking a little and reaching for me. I tell you it's time to go to bed and then I get a whiff. You pooped.

No problem. With a blanket on my shoulder, I pick you up and let you rub your face dry. Laying you down on the changing table you think I'm going to lay you and leave you. You begin to cry harder and the sobs become silent then you gasp for air and wail louder. I flashed back to my own vivid memories as a child doing the exact same thing. Staring at myself in my bedroom mirror, sobbing then gasping for air, sobbing then gasping for air, sobbing then...you get the picture. My head ached with the feeling of dehydration. You looked like me. Exactly like me and I never want to forget how to empathize with you. You are only 8 months old. Still too young to understand why we are putting you in your crib and leaving you. Dad and I abandon the sleep method that crying it out would work for you. You have the endurance of an elite athlete. Just when we were sure you'd stop crying after 45 minutes, you didn't. After an hour, you didn't. After 90 minutes, you didn't. After two hours, you didn't. After last weekend, I never ever want to put you through that again. I still feel horribly guilty.

When I say I had to check myself I meant I had to remember what it felt like to be you in that moment, feeling so upset, lost and so alone. Our patience is tested every day but in this moment, I remembered what kind of parent you need. One who isn't frustrated that you aren't sleeping, one who isn't annoyed that you continue to stand up in your crib crying begging to be held, and one who remembers what it felt like to be a kid who just needs a little help and comfort.

On a fun note, you pulled yourself up today and took a couple steps down the length of the coffee table. I bet you're walking before 10 months.