Good nights, bad nights

When Biscuit was a wee tiny little thing, I used to pray that he would sleep through the night. And for the past few weeks, I've been saying that prayer again.

When Biscuit was tiny, it was all about helping him figure out night from day, feeding him on a strict schedule and getting him used to his crib.

Nowadays, it's all about hoping the creepy-crawlies, monsters and other scary critters don't find him in his dreams.

Several nights over the past month, we've heard Biscuit screaming over the baby monitor. He calls for Mama or Daddy or one night he was just yelling "No, no, no," like he was trying to get something to leave him alone. His teachers at day care say he's even had a couple of bad dreams during their afternoon nap time. But whether it's at home or day care, it's such a helpless feeling to know that he's scared, and we can't do anything to help him fight off whatever is after him.

I read that as toddler's imaginations grow, so do their fears. It makes sense, but it doesn't make it any easier to hear him scream.

One night when Jeff went up to get him, Biscuit said there was something under his bed that was trying to get him. Jeff turned on the overhead light, got out a flashlight and showed Biscuit that there was nothing under his bed. But that wasn't enough. He was convinced.

Jeff brought Biscuit down to our room, and he slept with us for the rest of the night. Well, slept may not be the best word. Biscuit is quite the squirmer. He ended up lying across our pillows with his head against my head and his feet against Jeff's head. Thank goodness we have a king-size bed!

We've brought him down to our room several times, but then one night, he had a bad dream, and as I was walking up the stairs to get him, he saw me, turned around to get the stuffed puppy he sleeps with and said, "Ready go downstairs, Mama." It dawned on me that in our efforts to comfort him, we had created a bad habit.

"We're going to stay upstairs," I said to Biscuit. That was not the answer he was expecting. And he wasn't happy.

I sat with him for an hour and 40 minutes, and he finally went back to sleep. It was about 4:30 a.m. when I got back downstairs. Then at 5:15 a.m., he woke up again. Ugh!

Jeff and I looked at each other. "What do you want to do?" Jeff asked. I was too tired to fight it. "Just bring him down," I told him.

It's so hard to know what to do sometimes. My first priority is making sure that Biscuit knows that he is safe and that we're here for him. But at the same time, Jeff and I have to be well-rested to go about our business of working and keeping our house running.

I guess we'll figure it out as time goes by, but now that it's bedtime, I'm once again saying a silent prayer, "Please let my baby boy sleep through the night. Bring him peaceful thoughts and pleasant dreams."