Let Them Cry it Out

I just let my little boy cry himself to sleep, and it didn't hurt a bit. In fact, it felt really good.

No, I didn't slip out to indulge in fresh whipped cream and frozen cherries (that came after) - I was right there with him. Laying as close as possible while he buried himself under blankets and thrashed. Singing "If you take my hand my son, all will be well when the day is done" through and with his sobs. By the second chorus he let my hand rest on his belly, and in the final chorus he softly rested his hand on mine and started to entwine fingers, still sobbing.

Ten more minutes of gradually softening wails and rails against the injustice of his brother's tooth coming out before his, with me doing nothing to make him feel better, just feel held and safe, safe to be sad, safe to express it, safe to stay in it as long as he needed to. He may have been crying out many other hurts that had bottled up inside, I don't know and don't need to know. The important thing for him was that I wasn't trying to solve it or stop it, just hold him through it. "Hold onto your Kids," Gord Neufeld whispers.

At long last he rolled on his side toward me, nose to nose, and, stuffed his feet in between my thighs in a classic return-to-the womb, hold-me-head-to-toe pose that his brother in particular was addicted to. After some minutes in this fetal hold I opened my eyes and found him softly staring at me. I smiled and loved him back, releasing him to close his eyes and settle down into sleepy Peace.

Sleep well, my love. Your papa loves you, and is right here. Day is Done.