Babies don't keep. And neither do toddlers.

Today, I have a huge weight on my chest.  Not like the weight of carrying around 20 lbs of boob while 9 months pregnant, heavy.  This is an inside my heart, emotions, and mind, kind of weight.

Last night, for some inexplicable reason, Nick woke up at 11:45pm.

He went to bed easily - as he does almost every night - falling asleep just after 8pm, as his head hit the pillow.

But less than 4 hours later, he woke up, hopped out of bed, and went to his favorite spot -- behind his bedroom door, nervously jiggling the child-proof handle, softly crying out "Mommy, come back!"  It truly is as heartbreaking as it sounds.

At least, it was the first two times.

So, even though I had stayed up to watch The Bachelor, then followed it up with a terrible DVR recording of MTV's True Life "I'm a new millionaire", and had just crawled in bed mere seconds before Nick woke up, I put on my mommy pants (let's be serious, I was already sleeping in them - full panel maternity leggings!), and tip-toed down the hall to his room.

Once inside, the tears on his face were enough to put me into full on protector mode, and I scooped him up and snuggled him onto my lap.  We rocked and hugged and I "shhhh'd" his tear-soaked hiccups as he delicately pointed to his bedroom door saying "want to go mommy's room".

I calmly explained that he needed to sleep in his big boy bed all night because it was such a cool bed, and his stuffed animals were all sleepy and needed him to keep them company.

After about 10 minutes of this wheeling and dealing, I told him "mommy needs to go potty...can I leave for a minute?"  To which, surprisingly, he said "ok" and hopped back in his bed.  I tucked him back in, kissed him goodnight a few times, and quietly shut the door behind me.

Feeling pretty damn accomplished, I climbed back into bed - only slightly shoving Whinnie out of the way (why she thinks it's ok to completely commandeer my side of the bed the minute I get out of it, no matter how many times I pick her up and move her, I will never understand) - and laid back down.

Only, when Nick wakes up in the middle of the night?  There's no chance of me going back to sleep until he does.  Call it mommy's intuition...call it the downside of a video monitor...regardless, I cannot seem to keep myself from anxiously watching his little eyes on the monitor as they grow heavy...no matter how heavy mine might be as well.

But this time?  His eyes never grew heavy.

An hour later and he was still laying there staring into the darkness.  But?  He wasn't out of bed.  He wasn't crying.  He wasn't even making a sound.  So I placed my glasses on my nightstand, rolled over, and closed my eyes.

And three seconds later, I hear "COME BACK MOMMY!" followed by a horrendous round of heavy sobs.  I mean, seriously -- is this a two way video monitor?  How did he know I had JUST decided to go to sleep?

At this point, Todd - who had been asleep for a couple of hours, and had to get up in just a couple more - reached over and rubbed my arm.  "Don't go in, honey" he whispered, "he needs to learn to go back to sleep on his own."  And he was right.  SO right.  I mean, we've been battling 'cry-it-out' with Nick for 3 years.  3 YEARS!  Why won't he sleep??  It's not every night.  But it's at least a couple times a week. And at 9 months pregnant, uncomfortable, already annoyed by the world, and with a blood pressure that's creeping up to the danger zone, it's enough to make anyone crazy.

So I tried.  I tried to let Nick cry for a while.  But after about 10 minutes of heaving sobs and calling out for me, I broke again.

I trudged down the hall, entered his room, and again melted into a puddle of emotion when I saw his face.  Once more, I scooped him up, held him tightly to my chest, and rocked him back and forth. 

And the entire scene from about an hour and a half earlier played out again in the same fashion.

Shhh'ing.

Hiccuping.

Pointing at the door.

Asking to go to mommy's room.

Rocking.

Snuggling.

Tear wiping.

And then I told him this time I needed a drink of water.  And again, he hopped into his bed.  I tucked him in again, and he happily grabbed his bear and puppy and even cracked a smile saying "dis my bear!"  I kissed him no less than 20 times, told him how much I loved him and how proud I was of him for being a big boy who was going to stay in his room and sleep in his bed all night, and was confident we were out of the woods again.  I know I personally feel like taking a huge nap after a big cry-fest.  So why wouldn't a sleep-deprived toddler feel the same way?

So I went back to bed.  Closed my eyes.  And I *think* managed to get about 45 minutes of sleep.  I can't be sure, because at this point I had not really slept all night.

But sure enough, around 2:30am, I heard him get out of bed and start up the crying again.  And instead of feeling sympathetic, I got frustrated.  I needed sleep.  HE needed sleep.  Todd had to get up for work in 2 hours. 

I flung open my bedroom door, flung open Nick's bedroom door, and demanded he just come with me to sleep in our bed.  I took his pacifier, his bear, and tossed them on his bed saying "bear and pacifier sleep in Nick's bed, so they can't come".  Which of course only made him scream louder.  And I gave right back in and gave them back.  Then he begged me to "carry you" (meaning, carry ME), to which I refused and said "no, go to mommy's room!"  He cried harder, I told him I couldn't pick him up, and to go to mommy's room.

Yes, I jsut about lost my temper.

On my not-quite-three-year-old.  Who is still learning emotions.  And doesn't understand middle of the night frustration, when all he wants is to be snuggled and calmed and loved by the person he trusts most.  Mommy.

He finally followed me down the hall, and we both climbed into bed.  I covered him up, rolled over, and went to sleep.

And at some point, he fell asleep, too.

But when I woke up this morning - after only a few short, very interrupted, hours of sleep, I was still angry.

Angry that I couldn't figure out why he was upset.  Angry that I couldn't seem to calm him down.  Angry that I didn't know how to make him go back to sleep or convince him that his room and bed were better than sharing our queen size with two grown adults (one of whom is hugely pregnant), and a snoring, gassy dog.  Nope - for some reason that sounded way more appealing to him than sprawling out in his very! own! fire! truck! bed!

So I woke up annoyed.  And I woke him up.  When he probably needed at least 2 more hours of sleep.  I made him get dressed, as he crankily protested.  He laid on daddy's pillow as I threw on several layers, anticipating the icy cold drive to daycare.  I didn't even brush my hair or put on any make-up today.  I was that tired.  That NOT in the mood.

We went downstairs, and he sweetly pointed out all of his toys to me, politely asked me for some milk and fruit loops, and patiently allowed me to put on his shoes, hat, coat, and mittens. We loaded into the car and drove off to daycare.  My frustration started to melt away as he announced different colors of fruit loops to me, and told me his favorite color was green.

I pulled up to daycare, unbuckled his seat belt, hoisted him out, and he placed his head on my shoulder and asked "carry you?"

And a knot started to grow in my stomach.

As I carried him in to daycare - ignoring the fact that he is probably way to heavy for me to be carrying at this point in the game - he wrapped his arms around my neck, announced "it's a chilly day!" and leaned over to kiss me right on the lips.

I opened the door to daycare, ushered him inside, and shut the door as I heard him say "hug for mommy!  hug for mommy!" with his arms spread wide.  Despite the bitter cold, I pushed the door back open and wrapped him in a big hug.  Said goodbye, and headed back to the car.

And that's when I realized the knot in my stomach - the huge weight on my chest - was because my frustration was all for naught.  What was the point of it?  Last night, all he wanted was to be cuddled and loved by mommy.  And all I wanted was a peaceful night's sleep.  And if that meant both - ALL - of us squashed onto one bed, who cares?  Who was judging me at 3am?  Certainly not him!

The old saying "babies don't keep" is so true.  My toddler is and always will be my baby.  No matter how big he gets.  And while sometimes I think he should be much more mature for 3 years old, and should know how to sleep through the night, I have to remind myself that we're both still learning.  And someday I'll be longing to hold his tiny body in the middle of the night.  To stroke his little hands while they can still easily be enclosed by mine.  To wipe his tiny tears and breathe in his hair as he curls into the crook of my neck.  And to relish in hearing his little voice say "I wuv you too, mommy".  Because babies don't keep.  And toddlers don't keep either.