When I was awakened this morning at 5.20 a.m. by robust squawks from the nursery, I didn’t have too much to complain about. Michael had sportingly taken the lead in manning the nursery door, delivering the line — “Good night, August. Sweet dreams. See you when it’s time.” — and August had magnanimously refrained from crying most of the night. Sleep training … so far, so good.

All in all, I had a relatively good night’s sleep under my pajama waistband. I was encouraged. August and I started our day well: We hung out. We sang. We fed. And THEN it was time for the morning nap.

See, what I had omitted to factor into this whole sleep training thing, is that the training doesn’t stop when the sun rises. Nope, it continues well into the next day and naps — sigh — are no exception. We are on the express track, my friends.

Before we set loose the sleep train, I had envisioned every nighttime scenario and planned out appropriate solutions. What will I do if he cries for three hours nonstop? What will I do if he wakes me up before I wake him for the dream feed? What will I do if he can’t fall back asleep? What will I do if … well, you get the idea.

But stupidly, it hadn’t occurred to me that the following day I’d be sitting on the sofa listening to more shrieks issuing from under the nursery door. Call me a fool today. But trust me, this time tomorrow, I’ll be prepared. Oh, and for the record? Daytime nap training is far worse than nighttime sleep training. Especially when you’re home alone.

Tags: Crying, Sleeping