’Twas the night after Halloween, quiet, not quite,
Not a creature was sleeping, just the dog out of spite.
The milk had been given, and even some food,
But the baby, for sleep, was not in the mood.
A scarier story, you’ve probably heard,
But a sleep bandit loose should make anyone scared.
Sleep is so precious, for growing and might,
But babies want mama all through the night.
“Give her sleep training, she’s old enough now,”
Said friends to us as they furrowed their brow.
“It’ll be hard, but the results will speak loud…”
So we dove in, determinedly unbowed.
She tossed and she turned and she shouted for mama,
But the dummy just kept being provided by dada.
The clock struck one, then two, and then three,
Dad prayed from the bedroom, “Lord, please help her Zzz!”
Finally it came; after hours of screaming,
A ray of hope, in spite of the teething.
The baba slept soundly for eight hours straight.
Maybe, just maybe, this sleepless chapter’s closing its gate.