When Ruth was a baby, my husband and I would wonder what all the fuss about sleep deprivation and babies was about. She was already sleeping five hours a night when we brought her home from the hospital. She was sleeping eight hours by two months, and twelve by four months. “We are the best parents ever!”, we congratulated ourselves. “All of those parents that don’t sleep at night must be doing something wrong,” we smugly opined.
Then, Rose was born. She wouldn’t sleep for more than three hours at a time until she was four months old. Our faith in our parenting abilities was shaken. That was the longest four months of my life. Until Wren was born.