If I had it in me to torture my worst enemy, I would probably choose for them to endure the four month sleep regression. It is slow. and it is painful.
As Keith and I began to see the light at the end of the tunnel of sleepless nights, we were smacked in the face with yet another road block: extended wake times and sleep regression.
I was less frustrated this time (but still a little peeved that this little person seemed to be toying with me and the hope that seemed to be dangling off of a cliff). I think I was more frantic that I was losing the groove I was beginning to establish with his sleeping schedule. Not only that, as soon as I thought he was okay with me leaving him to play by himself, he suddenly grew fussy and clingy for no explicable reason.
But in the midst of the mild stress it brought me, I could not help but watch my son in adoration as he discovered something new about himself. The way he explored his own movement, slowly moving his fingers slowly above him. Insisting on sitting up so that he could reach for something in front of him. Everything was new to him, abilities I take for granted.
I cheered him on as he tried to roll over without assistance and encouraged him when he grew frustrated at a failed attempt. I knew that feeling. I also knew how hard I am on myself when I fail. I knew I didn't want to pass that on to my son. I scooped him up into my arms and would tell him that his trying was excellent and that we would try again later. Part of me was telling myself those same words.
I believe that the Spirit inside of each of us both young and old is ageless and filled with the knowledge of the universe and so it comes as no surprise that God uses the tiny movements of infants to both humble us, as well as administer his grace through them.