He's just faking.

New parents are obsessed with sleep. They are obsessed with sleep the way a crackhead is obsessed with crack: They want it, they need it, they crave it, but they can’t have it because their dealer got murdered. By their baby.

After a few weeks, when the parents have solemnly accepted the fact that sleep–like sex–will never again be had by choice, but only by necessity in frantic 20-minute bursts while their child naps, the obsession changes. The parents can’t control their own sleep patterns, but they start to think that maybe, just MAYBE, they can control their baby’s sleep patterns. They order books from Amazon that they never get to read because, well, the baby never sleeps. But just having the books feels like a triumph on two hours of rest and two days of unwashed hair.

OK, the jig is up. I’m talking about myself. I, admittedly, have so far failed at sleep-training my baby. But I hold onto the hope that someday I will WIN at sleep-training. Someday I will be Charlie Sheen of sleep-training, and my goddesses will bow down to me and I will drink in the sweet nectar of sleep like so much tiger’s blood.

In my apartment there is a crib, a co-sleeper, and a Fisher Price Rock n’ Play sleeper. Yet our two month-old son sleeps in none of these. By day he sleeps in my arms, on my boob, or on the couch after I have nursed him to sleep, rolled off by contorting my body like a Cirque du Soleil dancer, and escaped the living room via military floor crawl. By night, he sleeps in our bed, separating me and my husband like a tiny chaperone policing a middle school dance. The upside to co-sleeping is that I get more sleep, since I don’t have to get up in the middle of the night. The downside is that I never get to touch my husband, and that the baby’s hair regularly smells like armpit.

I want to transition him into a separate vessel, but I fear I’m ill-equipped for the controversial “cry-it-out” method–one wail and I’m a puddle. There’s supposedly a “no cry” method, but the more I read about it the more it seems like the “no cry” method is simply an exercise in patience–Waiting for Godot by way of Dr. Sears.

I guess what I’m saying, friends, is I’m tweaking. Does anyone have the good stuff? Or know where I can get it?

It’s not for me. It’s for my kid.

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p.s. Yes, I am that gorgeous in person. Eat your heart out.

This hilarious but true Three Day Weekend post comes from April from April’s Little Family, Mama Loves Food and Mama Must Haves.