After two months of not sleeping, I hit rock bottom last week and hit up anyone I could find who'd made it through the kid-not-sleeping thing for advice. Some of the suggestions ranged from the 'ole suck-it-up-and-cry-it-out to craniosacral therapy to rubbing brandy on Mali Zub's teeth to every homeopathic teething remedy in the book.
So we started trying things. And tried some more. And then I finally gave in and brought my kid to the chiropractor after three different people on the same day told me that they swore by it. And lo-and-behold, the first day I brought Mali Zub home from the chiropractor, he slept an eight-hour stretch--something he hadn't done in months.
So fingers crossed. The poor little bugger's got three new teeth coming in, and even though he's not the happiest kiddo on the block, he's still sleeping better than he was Before Chiropractor (B.C.). Never mind my poor peasant ancestors, who are turning over in their graves. Could you imagine such a thing in the old days? "Don't mind me, Grandma. I'm just going to take my 10-month-old baby to have his spine adjusted. Be right back to help you harvest that tobacco."