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From the moment I brought our second son home from the hospital, I knew that was only the first step towards integrating him into our family. While we spent nights in split shifts, crashing on the less uncomfortable couch, the baby figured out what night time meant, and worked on sleeping through the night.

To his credit, he picked up on it a lot faster than his brother. We chalk that up to his easy-going personality and the mentality we adopted, not wanting to make the same mistakes we did the first time with regards to sleep training. So, on the night I arrived home after my night class, I found that my husband had put both our boys to sleep in the same room.

I was scared, knowing that the early waking baby might disturb his brother or vice versa, and demolish the sweet sleep I was getting having the split shifts. I wasn’t highly functional, but the little sleep I was getting made a difference. Now, I was rolling the dice to remove this last bit of safety netting to integrate the boys into their shared room.

It wasn’t easy. At the moment of first fussiness, we were now compelled to act, so as to ninja-parent our way into the next room, scoop up or shush the offending party in the hopes of preserving the sleep of the other. It rarely worked. The older son regressed in his sleep, talking, sometimes yelling, often for us. This almost always woke up the baby, and brought the angry bear side of his parents out. Nights were ugly. Then, the baby got sick, and his coughing and snoring made it hard for his brother to sleep.

It’s still not completely sorted out. Most days I feel like I should just be couch-surfing forever, or at least until one of them moves out. What I wouldn’t give for one good night’s sleep.