Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Ode to a Glider

The summer before Sydney was born, Steve surprised me for my birthday by purchasing us a glider and matching, gliding foot stool. The chair was barely used the first few months of his life, as I was able to merely sit up in bed and nurse him before putting him back down to sleep.

We had brief encounters where our relationship grew. Sydney was rather tetchy at times due to gas and I would rock him to help the bubble move up. My chair always received me with open arms that were padded just right, beckoning with a 'come hither' motion.

By the time I went back to work, we were using the crib and he was sleeping, fairly successfully, through the night. Our relationship waned a bit. On the occasions where Sydney did need me at night, I would take him to the living room. I was an expert on what was on tv at 3 in the morning. Mostly just Roseanne reruns, but every once in a while, I'd hit a gem.

Then, the eczema hit. And teething. See my posts from February of last year or click on the link. It was really bad. Syd was no longer sleeping wonderfully. I would be up twice a night, and the light of the tv was too much to bear for my extremely exhausted and bloodshot eyes. I could barely read the time on the digital clock in Syd's room. My glider was restored as the first 'person' I went to - welcoming me and rocking us both to comfort, and sometimes to sleep, though not often enough for me.

We finally got the eczema under control and the first tooth finally broke through. We made it (Holy Saint Francis, I don't know how...) through to the end of the school year, and I was finally able to ferberize Sydney. He was hit or miss - he'd get 'trained,' start sleeping til 6, then another disruption would hit and we'd be back at 4 am waking times. Instead, though, I would stretch out on the couch where I could more easily lay back and doze while he nursed and napped.

We finally hit our stride. He was consistently sleeping til 6, as were we all. The glider was sadly forgotten in the corner of the room, sitting forlornly and waiting, patiently, for me to return, preserving my butt imprint so I could more easily settle in when "IT" finally happened.

"IT" happened about a week ago. Syd is, again, not sleeping well. I blame the teeth, again. Whoever said teething didn't hurt them was suffering from denial and the forgetfulness of infant hood that accompanies maturation. He's having a devil of a time.

Last night, at 1:40, he woke up crying. It didn't subside at all, and by 2 I finally got up to ensure he didn't have a fever, as he had been burning up all week. I gave him some medicine and returned, arms outstretched, to my glider. We rocked, we coaxed, we comforted together. It took a little more than an hour, but Sydney finally returned to the crib and Mommy to bed.

The killer is - Steve never woke up. He got up this morning praising Sydney for sleeping through the night until 5:40...I just laughed.


  1. A few years ago, my mom got rid of the glider she rocked me in as a baby. I'm still pretty ticked off about that. The worst part is that I have a perfect place in my apartment for it.

  2. I am so sorry. From the very beginning, we knew that this one wasn't going anywhere. Either he keeps it as he ages, or we keep it because I'm in love with it! I can imagine rocking my grandkids in this, too. :-)