My son is a good sleeper. He was born big at 9 lbs, 9 oz and after just a month, he began sleeping in stretches, letting my husband and I piece together four or five hours of rest at a time.
By the time he was 3 or 4 months old, he would sleep soundly for 10 hours at a time as long as I remembered to dream feed him a few hours after he first drifted off.
When he was 13 months old, we transitioned him to his own crib, in his own room. It felt odd at first, not hearing his night noises, the little snuffles and grunts that had become the background noise we fell asleep to each night, but it felt good, too. I relished being able to talk with my husband before we fell asleep and getting ready in my own room in the morning instead of gathering my clothes and sneaking into the hall bathroom.
My son is almost two now and he knows his bedtime routine well. He loves his bath, his stories and his special pajamas. On a usual night he leads the routine, instructing me on the steps, pushing towards rest as soon as he feels tired.
Despite his usual good temperament when it comes to bedtime and naps, he does have the occasional bad night or bad week. This week has been one of them. He's been happy...