I have to record this, even if it is just one night

Something happened last night, something that hasn't happened since September 2007.

Will slept through the night. In her own bed. By herself.

She was about six months old when she stopped sleeping through the night, something she'd done since she was a couple of months old. We assumed it was a sleep regression, of course. And it was around that time that I (finally!) learned to breastfeed lying down, so Will would start out in her crib and invariably end up in our bed at some point in the night.

There was a brief period where we tried co-sleeping all night, but that didn't work for any of us. The middle of the night transition from crib to bed worked best. Then she got bigger, and started waking herself up in her crib, then kicking us all night in the bed. When she woke up in the night I tried to keep putting her back in the crib, but she took so long to fall asleep and I was too tired to do it over and over again.

I thought the move to a big (double) big-girl bed would give her the room she needed to get comfortable, but she continued to wake in the night. So around this time last year, the middle of the night transition became mine, as I stumbled into her room to comfort her, and always fell asleep. At least my back was no longer aching, bent over the crib (though it sometimes ached from clinging all night to tiny corner of her mattress). At least my husband could get the sleep he needed so he could work during the day (even if I could barely keep my eyes open).

Many nights, I didn't mind it. That is, if she didn't kick me all night or toss and turn. With my little girl snuggled up next to me, I often loved it.

Of course, it wasn't without a toll on me. In these two-plus years I have lost the ability to fall asleep effectively on my own. Nights that Will didn't wake until later in the night just left me half-awake and waiting, then groggy and grumpy the next morning. Last night I even opened her door at 3:30 am, confused and concerned, waking her up with the sound. In a whisper, I asked her if she wanted her door open or closed, and she told me to leave it open and then went back to sleep.

At just after eight I heard a familiar voice, not next to my ear, but coming from another room. "It's not dark out! The sun is out! Is it time to get up?"

It was nice to have a moment to myself, before walking down the hall to her room singing a song I haven't sung in almost two-and-a-half years.

"Good morning! Good morning! You slept the whole night through. Good morning! Good morning to you!"