Before the baby came, you probably had a plan. Crib in the nursery, a dreamy mobile overhead, maybe a white noise machine humming in the background. It looked perfect.
And then night one hit—and you realized no one gave your baby the memo.
Crib Sleeping: The Fantasy and the Fight
You tried. Really. You did the whole bedtime routine. You placed your baby gently into the crib like they were a bomb you couldn’t risk waking. And two minutes later, they wailed like you’d abandoned them in the woods. Crib sleeping sounds great in theory—safe, structured, and baby gets “used to their own space.” Except your baby didn’t read the parenting books.
Instead, you spend half the night hovering over the crib, patting, rocking, replacing pacifiers, repeating the mantra, “They’ll learn. They’ll adjust. It’s just a phase.” Meanwhile, you’re the one who hasn’t slept in three nights and smells like sour milk and panic.
Crib sleeping works for some. But for many of us? It feels like a full-time job with zero pay, no sleep, and a boss who screams in your face every time you try to clock out.
Co-Sleeping: The Guilty Pleasure That Just… Works?
Then there’s co-sleeping—the parenting choice no one really admits to, but almost everyone tries at some point. Not the “officially endorsed” kind with a sidecar bassinet. No. We’re talking full-on baby in your bed, curled into you like a loaf of bread that breathes.
It starts innocently. You’re too tired to stand up after a 3 a.m. feed, so you lie down. Next thing you know, you both passed out. And guess what? The baby didn’t cry. You actually slept. You feel guilty, of course, because every parenting blog made you swear you’d never do it. But it’s quiet. It’s warm. It’s survival.
People will warn you: “It’s dangerous.” “They’ll never leave your bed.” “You’re making a rod for your own back.” You nod, agree out loud—and then keep doing it in secret. Because co-sleeping isn’t about spoiling the baby. It’s about keeping your sanity. It’s about choosing sleep and connection over rules that don’t always fit real life.
Safety, Shame & the Silent Majority
Here’s the truth: most parents co-sleep at some point, even if they don’t admit it. And it’s not because they’re reckless. It’s because babies are biologically wired to want closeness, especially at night. And parents? We’re wired to want our babies alive and to not lose our minds.
Of course, safety matters. If you’re co-sleeping, you do it intentionally, not accidentally. Flat surface, no loose bedding, no pillows near baby, no intoxication, no deep-sleeping partners who might roll over. You make it as safe as possible. And you do it because it works—for now.
The shame around co-sleeping needs to go. Every baby is different. Every family is different. And honestly? No one wins awards for “crib trained by week six.” You do what works. You do what lets you function. And you change it when it stops working.
So… What’s the Right Answer?
There isn’t one. Some babies love their cribs from day one. Others won’t sleep unless their ear is pressed against your heartbeat. Some parents love the idea of their baby in a separate space. Others sleep better with their baby in arm’s reach.
What matters most is sleeping safely and surviving the season. Because that’s what it is—a season. Babies grow. Sleep evolves. And whether your baby starts in a crib, in a bassinet, or right next to your armpit, they won’t be there forever.
What worked for me
We started with the crib. It was right next to my bed, so I could reach over, rock a little, maybe pat a bum and hope for the best. And for a while, it worked. But some nights? Nothing did. So, I broke all the “rules” and brought the baby into my bed—swaddled, a little away from me, but close enough that I could breathe and they could sleep. It wasn’t part of the original plan, but nothing about postpartum is.
The one thing I did stick to religiously? A bedtime routine. Predictability was my anchor. Every night, without fail, we’d do a warm wipe-down or bath, slip into soft pajamas, recite our duas, and then rock to sleep. No bright lights, no noise. The house shifted into bedtime mode—quiet, dim, and slow. I even got blackout curtains to block out every sliver of light. Over time, just the act of dimming the lights and starting that wind-down was enough. My baby knew: this means sleep. And to this day, the second we start that process, his body just gets it.
Some nights it was crib. Some nights it was co-sleep. All nights it was survival—with a little structure holding the chaos together.
Final Thought:
Don’t let guilt choose for you. Let sleep, safety, and sanity guide your nights.
Crib or co-sleep? It’s not about right or wrong.
It’s about what gets you all through the night in one piece.
