Adding a new baby to our family felt like removing the wrong Jenga block — and I was far from ready for the chaos that ensued.
A piercing cry from the newborn startled me awake. As I tried to shift toward the bassinet, I found myself trapped by my son on one side and my daughter on the other. Their warm, tangled limbs had always brought comfort during the night. Sharing our bed had been a cozy arrangement for four, but with the arrival of my third child last July, it became evident that our sleep dynamics required a serious transformation. Suddenly, three kids felt like ten; the pandemic continued to loom, and navigating infant care in my mid-30s drained my energy far more than it had in my 20s.
For years, our two oldest had peacefully drifted off to sleep in their own rooms under two conditions: we would stay with them until they fell asleep, and they were welcome to join us in bed if they awoke during the night. Some evenings, that was my husband’s only chance to connect with them after a long workday. On other nights, I found myself texting friends in frustration as time slipped away.
Sleep decisions are deeply personal, and parents often approach these discussions with caution, eager to avoid judgment. I never adhered to a strict parenting philosophy; co-sleeping and room-sharing were simply what felt right for us. The naptime routine with my first two was a mix of bonding and tests of patience. I vividly recall handing my toddler a tablet, desperately hoping for some quiet time to get her baby brother to sleep, gearing up for another lengthy nursing session. As my kids grew and naps faded, our sleep patterns settled into a comfortable rhythm. But the arrival of a third child threw everything off balance, like a poorly timed Jenga move.
Bringing a new member into our family posed two major challenges: our king-sized bed was now too cramped for anyone to join for extra sleep, and the uncertainties of the pandemic meant I would often be home alone with all three children. I needed to ensure I could be present for my older kids — they had already lost so much during the pandemic, and I didn’t want to take away my attention from them as well. As I sat upstairs during each naptime, nursing and rocking the baby to sleep, anxiety bubbled within me as I heard the sounds of bickering from downstairs. I longed to run outside with them, play games, and share joyful moments. They craved a connected mom who could say “yes” again.
Nighttime was even more difficult. Once the baby finally settled down, I often had only enough time for a single bedtime story before she cried out for help again. The cycle of nursing, rocking, and comforting continued throughout the night, while my older children still attempted to sneak into our bed, upset about losing their time with us. Sleep deprivation was rampant in our home. It became clear that we needed to find a solution. With our pediatrician’s reassurance that the baby was old enough to go longer between feeds, it was time to consider a different approach.
That’s when I remembered the concept of sleep consultants. Initially, I had dismissed sleep training, unaware that consultants offered tailored plans and personalized guidance. While scrolling through Instagram during a nursing session, I came across the account of a supportive and positive woman named Sarah. “Wait, babies have different sleep cycles than we do?” I pondered, intrigued by her posts. Why hadn’t our pediatrician shared this information? My previous postpartum visits often revolved around the same questions: “How many hours is the baby sleeping and eating? Are they sleeping on their back on a firm surface?” I would answer “yes” to the last question, too exhausted and guilt-ridden to admit that my baby would only sleep on my chest, which was the only way I could get any rest, too.
After some coaching, I decided to try putting my baby down awake for the first time. With a little trial and error, I achieved what I once thought impossible: one of my babies fell asleep independently after a bit of light fussing. I realized I didn’t resonate with the term “sleep training” — I preferred what Sarah referred to as “sleep coaching,” which I now see as sleep learning: a respectful, collaborative process between caregiver and baby. Through this journey, I discovered that I could manage our household without allowing anxiety to take over. I didn’t need to sacrifice my attention to my older kids or my personal interests to address the baby’s sleep needs. Most importantly, I found that a structured sleep routine brought back the sense of normalcy and predictability that the pandemic had threatened to take away.
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In summary, my experience with sleep training shifted dramatically after the birth of my third child. With newfound knowledge and support, I learned to embrace a collaborative approach to sleep that honored both my baby’s needs and my older children’s desire for connection.
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