To say it was an easy night would mean that most of you would have to call "bullshit" on me. It was tough. Dante finally fell asleep around 11 pm, that's after about 2 hours of crying and yelling. We did what we were supposed to do: check on him periodically, lay him down with his lovey and walk out of the room. He fell asleep sitting up with his hands on the bars of his crib like a little prisoner and it wrenched my heart into 6 million pieces. We stretched him out on his side, put the puppy lovey in his arms and finally went to bed. And he slept. He slept to the point that at 4 am I woke up on my own to see if he was alive. He was; snoring away like his dad (and me, so I am told).
At about 4:30 am he woke up and since my boobs were the size of small planets and leaking milk all over the place, I broke the "rules" and nursed him. He nursed until about 5 and then, awake as he was, I put him back in his crib and let him go at it again. I lay him down with his lovey, turned on the little music he likes, and went back to bed. Randy was up getting ready for work and I stayed up to read and to listen. He cried and fussed, but certainly not like he did earlier. He quieted down after about half an hour and I peeked in and saw him stading up, leaning his head on the crib rail, and cooing at the big Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal. I went back to bed and must have fallen asleep as I woke up with a start around 7 am and heard nothing. I went in to check on him and there he was, the little prisoner, sitting up, clenching the bars of the crib, face mushed into the bars, snoring away. I lay him on his side, put his lovey in his arms and went back to bed.
He woke at 9 this morning and my fears of him not loving me went right out the window when, as I picked him up out of his crib, he planted a big ol' kiss on me and then proceeded to say "Muh-muh Ba! Ba!" (Which I've taken to mean "Mommy! Bottle!". Sometimes it means "Mommy! Ball!", but since his ball was nowhere in sight, I took it to mean "bottle".) I was right, and we had breakfast and he helped me fold the laundry by taking it all out of the laundry basket and spreading it all over the floor.
At 11:30, he pulled up my shirt and said "Boo" which means "give me some boobs" and I nursed him into his nap.
Tonight, we do it again. Aside from birthing him, this has been the toughest thing in the world. So far. I'm sure that by the time he turns 15 and brings some tramp home (they will ALL be tramps), I'll find some other tough things to deal with.