When Asher was first born, I was a little bit crazy.

I spent the first two weeks obsessing over whether I should be putting him down awake, or holding him. Then it was if he should sleep in his basket (the "recommended" position, that he hated) or in his carseat (that he loved). I fretted over every tiny mundane detail of his day. It was ridiculous. The worrying culminated in the third month, when I spent a few weeks trying to put him down awake so that he would learn to fall asleep in his bed on his own (at ten weeks old! I told you I was crazy). It was torturous for both of us. He would scream for an hour while I stood outside of his door, trying to decide how long to let him cry before I went to him. Finally I decided I couldn't take it. Maybe Ezzo would say I was ruining my child, but so what - I couldn't, in good conscience, let my infant cry without consoling him. So I learned how to trust myself with my baby a little, and started rocking him to sleep. Asher and I both felt good about it. In a few weeks, he would relax his little body as soon as we settled into the recliner. I relaxed, too, and resigned myself to fighting the sleep battle later.

And this is what I just can't seem to accept about life - that everything changes. No matter how good or bad a situation is, it is never static.

Because this weekend, Asher decided he prefers his bed to being rocked. I never had to fight the sleep battle, I never had to go through the "how long do I let him cry" question at all. He made up his own mind, just like that.

Who knew.