I come down on the side of nature.
Remember that I had a daughter who slept through the night at 12 weeks of age, and I thought it had something to do with "la pause"?
Well, since then I've had a son who slept through the night from 15 months onwards, so there you go. I started out doing the same thing, in fact, I counted down to that 'magical 12 week moment' (hahaha), I offered pacifiers, I gently encouraged him to suck his thumb, I carried, I rocked, I nursed, I took taxis, nothing worked.
Falling asleep apparently is learned behaviour and it took my little Big Boy 15 months to figure it out. It was Man Tamtam who finally, firmly, explained to Big Boy that nights are for sleeping. After I crumbled during our Desaru break and slept for a whole day, he told me he was taking over. For a week, he went in whenever J. awoke, and petted him back to sleep. And after that week, Big Boy slept through the night.
So there you go. I know nothing of this parenting lark. This is by no means the only example of my complete failure to do useful parenting. Of course, I try, I read, I listen to other people, but however much I try to be the best I can be, I'm still me. (Fortunately, there are also people who think that is a good thing.) So I bumble along, holding fast to my core belief that as long as I love those children and that man with all my heart and all my might, somehow, they and I will turn out alright.
I have two amazing, lovely, beautiful children, who seem to be reasonably behaved, give or take a bit of yelling and shouting, and who can be rather pleasant company in their toddler way. But I claim NO responsibility. I didn't even consciously pick that gorgeous man whose genes combined with mine to produce these wondrous things. Instinct took over, and I just followed.
Nature is a beautiful thing.