The Baby Advice You Didn’t Ask For

Let me be clear: pregnant women do not want your advice.   If they want it, they will ask for it.  And if they ask for it and then realize they disagree with what you are saying, they will probably go vacant-eyed and fantasize about ice cream until you stop talking.  

Mint chip.. Rocky Road... Wait, were you talking?

For the most part, pregnant women or their partners do not want to know what you think about swaddling, whether (and for how long) you believe in breast-feeding, or whether you decry pacifier use as moral downfall or uphold it as your family’s personal salvation.  It’s not that the topics of swaddling, breast feeding or pacifiers don’t interest them.  The problem is that advice givers are so invested in their own choices that their advice, rather than being neutral and informative, is actually a high-pressure sales pitch in disguise.  The expecting parent is like a person who doesn’t yet have a driver’s license but has wandered into a used-car dealership.  “You’re going to buy a car ONE DAY,” the peddler of advice is insisting, “why not buy MIIIIIINE?????  THIS ONE?????  Because I know this one is RIIIIIGHT??!?!?”  And you, the expecting parent, flounder to be polite without committing to anything.

To swaddle or not to swaddle?

My usual approach with expecting parents is to be vague and supportive on any topic.  They don’t need any judgment from me, and if they parent with love everything will probably work out just fine.  My stock phrases are “Every baby is different” and “Whatever works for your family.”  If the expecting parents press me and ask what I did with Miles, I usually answer honestly and then add one of my stock phrases.  Sometimes I finish with, “I’m sure whatever you decide will be fine.” 

Swaddling?  “We did it with Miles.  Whatever works for your family.”  Pacifiers? “Miles refused to take one.  Every baby is different.”  Burying the placenta under a neighborhood tree?  “Ewwww!  I mean, um, we didn’t do that. Whatever works for your family.  I’m sure whatever you decide will be fine.”

Pacifier dreams.

But I have opinions.  I’m not claiming my opinions are exclusively right or that they work for everyone.  (See stock phrases above.)  But here, without further disclaimer or self-deprecation,  are my honest opinions.  This is the stuff that I wish the future me could have flown back and told the pregnant me — the stuff I learned the hard way.

1. Baby wash cloths are not necessary.  They are cute, yes, and registering for them is fun.  But they.  Are.  Wash cloths.  Just use what you have at home and call it good.

2.  Pacifiers.  If you can get your baby to take one, thank your lucky stars.  More time on the pacifier is less time on the boob, which can be astonishingly helpful when you want to shower, make a bowl of cereal, or ride the subway in New York city without stripping.  Not that I would know, because Miles refused to take a pacifier.  He was a boob man through and through.  (In the photo at right, we put it in after he was asleep.  It didn’t last.)

3.  This brings me to breast feeding.  I recommend making it work if you can.  I think it’s better than formula (sorry!), but if you are going to breast feed, puh-LEASE don’t be sanctimonious about it.  Breastfeeding does not give anyone license to berate others. 

Plugged in.

If you try BFing and can’t do it, you are not a bad person.  If you try it and succeed, expect to have mixed feelings about it for the first several months at least.  It will sometimes hurt.  You will not necessarily feel “bonded” when your newborn wakes up every two hours at night wanting to latch on.  You will instead feel furious, cranky and tired.  You will think that all those people who described it as a beautiful experience were lying, and you will want to blow them up.   That is okay.  You (like me) may one day describe it as a beautiful experience.  And even though breast feeding in public is embarrassing and some people will freak out and give you flak for it, just do it.  You are feeding a baby in public, not masturbating, and your alternative is to go home EVERY TWO HOURS to feed your baby in private.  Just use a nursing cover or get used to being bare-breasted.

4. Those little baby outfits with the feet on them? Those are pajamas.  No one told me this.  Miles wore those day and night. 

5. Co-sleeping versus the crib.  As you may know, we slept with Miles for the first year.  Now he sleeps in a crib.  We were happy then; we’re happier now.  This really is an every-baby-is-different-whatever-works-for-your-family situation.  Whatever you do, don’t let anyone give you any lip about it.  Lie if you have to.

6. Speaking of lying, get ready to lie about your baby’s sleep.  Everyone will ask you, and no good can come of their response when you answer honestly.  In my experience, most babies sleep badly. Myths of newborns who sleep “all night” are greatly exaggerated.  Different babies respond differently to sleep training efforts, and those differences probably have more to do with the babies themselves than with anything the parents did correctly or incorrectly.  Yet the more sleep deprived you become, the more vulnerable you will be to other people’s advice, mockery, and judgment.  Protect yourself.  Lie!

Sleep is for the weak.

Different people ask about your baby’s sleep for different reasons.  Some — usually parents whose children are long grown or childless people who don’t want to ever have children — feel a cruel sense of pleasure at your suffering.  It’s true; they want to laugh at you.  People whose children sleep through the night want to confirm that they are better parents than you.  With these two types, you neither want to give them the satisfaction of knowing you suffer nor invite their unwanted advice.  When they inquire, smile sweetly and say, “She sleeps all through the night.” 

Others just want to tell you what you are doing wrong.  They may be well-meaning family members or neighbors or someone you meet in a parenting group.   They’re just sure that any baby will sleep for 14 hours at a stretch if you use their method.  Chances are good that, having tried every method, you will want to punch these people.  Take a deep breath and repeat after me: “He sleeps all through the night.”  If your baby magically sleeps all through the night, and anyone asks about it, just be vague.  DO NOT BOAST OR APPEAR TO TAKE CREDIT FOR THIS MIRACLE.  IF YOU DO, I MIGHT SPIT ON YOU.  Just say, “He sleeps okay.”  If the asker is another parent who looks exhausted and tortured by self-doubt, be vague and compassionate.  Try, “Some nights are better than others.”  If the asker is a friend who is genuinely concerned about your well-being but has no particular stake in the politics of baby sleep, maybe, maybe, MAYBE tell the truth, whatever your truth may be.  But do so at your own risk.

7. I won’t ask you how your baby sleeps, but I might hand you Good Night, Sleep Tight by Kim West.  It is the baby sleep book that saved us from baby sleep hell.  It’s my favorite because, like me, it’s more middle of the road.  It’s not a strict cry-it-out system like Ferber or Babywise, but it’s not a super-granola attachment parenting manual like The No-Cry Sleep Solution (which I tried valiantly to use for almost a year).  We used the methods in Good Night, Sleep Tight, Miles cried some but in a way I could feel okay about, and now he sleeps so much amazingly better.  He sleeps all through the night.  And I am not even lying.  Get this book.  Now.  NOW.

8. The Happiest Baby on the Block by Harvey Karp.  People will tell you it saved their lives.  Personally, I think it’s overhyped.  It worked for us about 60 percent of the time, which was helpful.  But you know what, sometimes all the swaddling and sideways laying and sucking and shhhhhing and swaying in the world does not work.  Sometimes they just cry. If you can borrow the book or DVD from someone, do.  If not, meh.  Whatever.

Dear Harvey Karp: You lied.

9.  Now for the best baby advice I ever received: Be gentle with yourself.  If you are a birthing mother, your hormones will be completely wack-a-doodle-doo for several months.  It is very possible that you will not know who you are any more.  If you are an adoptive mom, a dad, or any other kind of parent, you will still be going through intense experiences that change everything.  Everything.  New parenthood is surreal.  At times in the first weeks, I looked down at the crying bundle in my arms and could not remember its name or whether it was a boy or girl — I just knew I was supposed to appease it.  Give yourself a few months (or a year or so) for things to settle down.  You are doing a great job.  Trust me.  And, of course, congratulations!

This post is dedicated to Tina Anderson and Naomi Frame Powell, who have gracefully endured a great deal of unsolicited advice from me. 

Coming soon: The Breast Feeding Advice You Didn’t Ask For, The Stay-At-Home Parenting Advice You Didn’t Ask For, and more!

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Waking Up Is Hard to Do

After his nap Thursday…

Not. Happy. At. All.

 

Don't even think of smiling at me.

 

I'm okay, you're okay?

 

No! Awful! Terrible! Must throw grits!

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Party in My Crib

On Saturday, we began a version of sleep training with Miles, which will inevitably lead to another great blog post on the topic of sleep from Miles’ Mommy, who holds the role of researcher in this household and has posted on the topic before (here and here). But first came the chore of moving the crib back to the nursery from our bedroom — a job that required removing the sides to allow us to maneuver it through the doorway. Miles decided this was an opportunity to get his first hands-on experience with manual labor, which mainly included spinning the washers around the half-removed bolts. Luckily, his Mommy was there to catch us in action. Here are a few pics of my little helper:

Hey, we're working here!

Follow my lead, Momma.

Are you sure we're doing this right?

Hey, what's up there?

Nice work, Mom!

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First

Happy Birthday, Miles.  Now you are 1.  

Cupcake.

This is officially your second October 11 on this earth.  One year ago yesterday, I got up from bed to pee and my water  broke.  Perching on the toilet and realizing that no one, particularly not a pregnant woman with a bladder the size of a walnut, could pee for that long, I realized what was happening.  I started calling your other mother’s name.  I called and called, but she was deeply asleep and wearing ear plugs.  So I hobbled back to the bedroom, leaking all the way, and shook her awake.  

We could not believe you were finally coming and that you would stop being this abstract source of heartburn and other, less mentionable digestive upsets, and become, for real, a human.   We were stunned, disoriented, and a little giddy.  (We still are, come to think of it.)

Early labor: still smiling.

One year ago today, after 18 hours of (mostly unmedicated) labor, a lot of very deep breaths, and a last-minute trip to the operating room, we met you for the first time.  I’ve written about that moment before.  It remains the most transformative moment of my life. 

From the beginning, you were yourself.  I’m not quite sure how else to put it, but if you ever have children you’ll know what I mean.  This probably sounds dumb to you now, reading this years later, but you were a person from the very first moment your Momma held you to my cheek.  You came fully formed, with likes and dislikes and mannerisms and tendencies and your own particular way of approaching situations.  These twelve months we’ve sat back and marveled at who you are, watching you unfurl.

So very little.

At the time of your birth you were so very new, and these were your chief accomplishments: possessing all the necessary extremities, making profound facial expressions, and sporting a head of tufted reddish hair that made the nurses exclaim.  Yet though you could not move or talk and would not have a name for a day or so, you were you.  You were already the person who now wakes from a nap pointing and asking, “Dat?”, who rewards us with crooked smiles, who chased pigeons while gripping one of our fingers for balance, and who touches new things delicately, with the tip of one pointed finger.  You’re calm, observant, gentle, mischievous, and affectionate.  You love food and wind in your hair and pointing at airplanes and being tossed up and down.

Momma.

Tonight, after your bath, we were wriggling you into your pajamas.  You kept smiling at the yellow ducks on your pajama pants, charming us.  Your Momma said, “One year ago today, you were in my arms.”  She got to hold you and gaze blissfully at your face in the recovery room while the doctors put my guts back in and stitched me up.   The two of you talked of many things; I bet she’ll tell you about it if you ask her. 

One year contains wholeness — every season, every month, and every day.  Like you, it is a template with reassuring solidity, yet it contains infinite future variations.   Who will you be as your Novembers and Februaries and Fourths of July pile up?  Very likely, you will be calm, observant, gentle, mischievous and affectionate.   You will get over your passion for airplanes, and your vocabulary, currently comprising three sparkling, jewel-like words, will grow.  (Your three words are cat, bye-bye, and truck.)  You will speak in sentences.  You will walk without holding on — maybe even tomorrow.   You will also surprise us, awe us, terrify us. 

This year was not easy for me in particular, perhaps because the stakes seemed so high.  I was supposed to keep you alive, for gosh sake, and fatten you up and lure you into sleep and stop you from bashing your head on the furniture and let you explore.   At times I was absolutely dizzy with worry.  This year was also beautiful.  We love you madly, Miles.  We’re absolutely, terribly smitten with you.  Just when we think you couldn’t get more lovely, you astound us with unimaginable levels of delectability and genius.

Already ancient.

Happy birthday, dear one.  Happy first, and welcome to your second year.

Birthday morning.

 

Gotta be me.

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Cape Town

Miles is my hero.  And not just because he looks good in tie-dye, uses a paper towel roll as a bugle, and turns a bib into a cape.  He’s funny and gracious and open and kind.  I’m not sure yet what his superhero power will be when he grows up.  Empathy?  Humor?  Subtle innuendo?  Car repair?

Hear ye, hear ye!

 

Another admirable trait: he has the best post-nap hair.  Check out this ‘do from last week.

Like you just stepped out of a salon...

And finally, a good shot of those two teeth he worked so hard to grow.

Look at those choppers!

I heart him.  I seriously do.  Sigh.

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An Overflow of Cute … And of Something Less Awesome

Miles is so cute I can hardly keep up with posting cute photos these days.  Well, actually, he is so everything that I can hardly keep up.  Unrolling the toilet paper, splashing my bracelet in the toilet, chasing balls, demanding that I hold his hands and walk him those three steps from the desk to the bookshelf.  He’s on to my tricks, too.  Did I think I could distract him with the tupperware AGAIN and get some dishes done?  Mwah ha ha ha ha!  No way, Jose, those empty baby food jars (and, okay, wine bottles) in the recycling bin are just too intriguing.

Just to make things exciting, he’s extra poop-tastic these days.  He’s got crazy, wild, outfit-destroying poops, as many as five a day.  I’ve explained to him that this simply doesn’t work for me.   Where are those nice, solid, lovely poops he’s been churning out once a day since we started solid foods?  Those poops that emerge silently and lie quietly nestled in the diaper as though afraid to offend?  These most recent poops assault the senses and horrify the intellect.  They’re vast, foul, and uncontainable.  Between this and his recent aversion to sleeping, it’s like having a newborn around again.  Except, he’s a newborn who can crawl, chase, and destroy.  Ay, yi, yi!

Maybe we can blame teething, the ever-handy scapegoat?  Teething causes diarrhea and disrupts sleep, right?  Right?  Blaming teething is so easy.  I can imagine myself taking it a little too far.   When Miles is 15 and wanting to drop out of high school to move to Oregon with his band, I’ll probably turn helplessly to Robin and say, “Well, he must be teething!”

Okay, I better go.  Miles is rearranging the books and records.  And I think I smell something emanating from his drawers…

Just try and stop me!

On a roll.

Bedtime? You must be joking!

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Miles and Diego

A few weeks ago, our friends Amanda and Pat came to visit from Washington, D.C., with their son Diego, born just a few weeks after Miles.  Amanda and Robin go way back, to Stanford.  Our sons being born right around the same time was a wonderful gift, and this visit would bring the two together for the first time. 

Love and drool abounded.  Diego is a joyful, active, fearless lad who is always on the go but can fall asleep anywhere in seconds.  He spends 90 percent of his time trying to get people’s attention by smiling at them.  If you ignore him, he smiles bigger and hunkers down like he is focusing the power of his smile.  We got fancy ice cream, went to the park, and hung out at our block party.  Now that’s a weekend.  Diego, it was a pleasure to meet you.  Come back soon.

First meeting.

At the Garfield Tot Lot.

Love machine.

Block party.

Pat and a hat.

Amanda and Diego.

Gonna getcha, Diego!

Tickle, tickle.

Block parties are exhausting.

Yes, asleep at the block party.

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Eight is Enough

Miles turned eight months old today. 

Since you couldn’t be here to spend the day with him, we thought we’d bring his day to you.

Breakfast.

 

Morning glory.

 

Discovering the bookshelves.

 

I'll just alphabetize these for you.

 After a busy morning he took a long nap (not pictured).  And then…

Lunch.

 

Helping Mommy clean house.

 

Almost time for nap number 2.

 

 After 20 meager minutes of sleep, Miles decided naptime was officially over!  So we packed up our stuff and took the subway over to my school to meet Laurie for ice cream.

This chair device is quite clever.

Then Laurie took some rare footage of me holding Miles.  So indulge me as I post a few shots.

Chocolate milkshake.

 

Love.

Finally, we went into a baby store called Green Onion, and Laurie went into a buying frenzy. 

“What does he want?  Does he need a bib?  Does he need this rattle!  Look!  A frog!  He’s totally getting this frog!”

The woman at the store asked, “Are you his aunt or something?”

“An honorary aunt,” I said.

Laurie kept grabbing and buying. 

“Do you live out of town or something?” the woman asked Laurie.

“No,” I explained.  “She just likes kid stuff, and we never see each other.”

After that it was time to go home and start the bedtime routine.  Laurie walked us to the subway.

Thanks for everything, Auntie Laurie!

 

Dinner time.

 

Bath time.

 

Pajama time.

 

Sweet dreams, everyone.  Thanks for sharing a beautiful day with us.

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Nap Dragon

Zzzzzzz...

Every once in awhile, I run into a friend who reads the blog and this friend asks me how I’m doing.  I chatter on about how great things are going and how much fun Miles is these days, and meanwhile the friend’s brow is furrowing in a very particular way.  (This has happened more than once, really.)  And I’ll wonder what’s going on and I’ll keep chattering and bouncing Miles if he’s with me (which is basically always). 

Finally, the friend will ask, very compassionately, about his naps.  And if we are with someone who else who doesn’t know us as well, the friend will whisper gravely to that other person, “Miles doesn’t nap well.”

Whoops!  I guess I forgot to update everyone.  He naps now. 

I have blogged a few times about the torment that was naps.  Miles used to nap about every two hours for 40 minutes or less.  This might sound ideal to people whose babies never nap, but it was horrible for various reasons I now only dimly recall.  Lots of rocking and singing.  Lots of him waking up after a few minutes and crying.  Lots of him refusing to sleep unless I would hold him upright in my arms.  I felt like I could hardly leave the house because he was going to get tired and fussy after being awake for only an hour.  Not fun times.  On top of it all, I was reading all these books that said, literally, that poor naps cause obesity, difficult temperament, delayed learning, and aggressiveness.  So during every failed nap attempt, I heard a voice in my head shouting, “Your baby is going to be a fat stupid sociopath unless you get him to sleep! No pressure, though!”

I kindly invite that voice to SHUT IT. 

Is Miles on a schedule?  No. But I think we can safely say (crossing my fingers, knocking on wood) that we have slain the nap dragon.  He has a pattern that is pretty predictable, allowing him to be well rested and me to have a little more of a life.  He usually naps an hour to an hour and a half in the morning before lunch.  This could be two 45-minute naps or, increasingly, one longer nap.  Then he usually takes one long nap in the afternoon of 90 minutes to two hours.   Very occasionally, he’ll take one more mini-nap before bedtime, which is pretty consistently 7 p.m. these days. 

Afternoon snooze.

And now (this is awesome) he is learning to sleep through car alarms, police sirens, buses, big trucks and motorcycles.  Finally!

I hope this sets Miles’ reputation as a difficult napper to rest.  This life he’s got going is a pretty good life.  He’s a happy baby who sleeps better every day (um, unless he’s teething or having a vicious attack of the farts).  As for the dire predictions of the books, well, his thighs are a little chubby.  But he’s obviously a compassionate, kind-hearted genius.  Duh.

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Co-Sleeping Confessions

Okay, I admit it.  We sleep with our baby.  All three of us sleep at night in one Queen-sized bed.  Usually, our cat sleeps with us too.  Shake your heads if you will, but we’re not ashamed! Okay, it’s more like we were ashamed but now we’ve come to terms with it.  Sure, we’re considering fibbing about it to our pediatrician … and we usually don’t mention it when people ask if he’s sleeping well …  But it’s time to pull back the curtains and shed some light on this time-honored but much-maligned parenting tradition.

Asleep in Momma's arms at the hospital.

Here are all the things you wanted to know about co-sleeping but were afraid (or too horrified) to ask, in a handy question-and-answer format.

Q: Ewwwww.  That’s gross.  Only weird, smelly hippies do that.

A: Um, that’s not a question, but okay.  We have an answer!  Sleeping with your baby (also known as co-sleeping, bed-sharing, sharing sleep, and the family bed) is not as unusual as you might think.  Off the top of my head, I can think of three couples we know who co-sleep with their baby either full time or part time.  And they’re all highly educated professionals who bathe regularly, honest!

Many parenting books, including those written by medical professionals, discuss co-sleeping as a reasonable option and even argue that it has some benefits.  In “The Baby Book,” pediatrician Dr. William Sears writes, “In a survey of 186 traditional societies throughout the world, mother and baby shared a bed in most cultures…”  I’m not suggesting that these other societies are superior to us, just that this isn’t such a totally weird idea.  In “The Nursing Mother’s Companion,” author Kathleen Huggins writes, “Anthropological and developmental studies suggest that mothers and infants are biologically and psychologically designed to sleep next to each other.”  In simpler language, our bodies and minds are made for this.  She lists these benefits of co-sleeping: babies cry less overall, proximity improves the mother’s milk production, and the risk of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome drops.  I don’t know if that’s all true — you could probably find a book that claims the opposite — but it sounds good to us.

Q: Aren’t you afraid you’ll roll over on top of your baby and smother him? A: No way.  Most people are aware of their body placement even when they’re asleep.  Think of it this way.  Are you afraid you’ll roll out of bed and fall on the floor in the middle of the night?  Probably not.  (Unless you’re like a friend of ours who said that she comes close to falling out of her bed all the time.  If you move around a lot or even throw kicks and punches in your sleep, keep that baby in the crib.) When your baby is in bed with you, you are very, very aware of his presence.  For the first few weeks, you are aware of his every breath. At first I kept waking constantly, and I slept with a soft light on so I could always check to see that Miles was not being smothered.  “Is he still alive?” I would whisper, shaking Robin awake.  But hey, at least I didn’t have to get out of bed to check.

After you get used to your baby’s presence, you develop an amazing ability to monitor his whereabouts without being fully conscious.  Now I just sort of know where he is in a weird sixth-sense kind of way. A friend of mine once sat up in bed from a dead sleep and nabbed her son as he crawled out into thin air at the foot of the bed.  Pretty impressive.

 

 

Morning cuddles.

Q: Don’t you feel like parenting failures because your baby refused to sleep in a crib?  He totally manipulated you to get his way.  That’s it — your parental authority is shot.

 

A: No, we don’t feel like failures.  We feel like flexible, responsive parents who are doing what’s working for our family right now.  (Did you hear the preachy co-sleeping propaganda narration there?  Because it can be a little sickening.)  It’s true that co-sleeping was not our plan.  We both assumed Miles would start in a cradle and then move to a crib.  Then when Miles came home, he put the kibosh on that plan.  From the very first day, Miles was a cuddler.  (Translation: he screamed bloody murder when we tried to put him down.)  In those early newborn days, our pediatrician urged us to do anything we could to get some sleep.  So Miles slept most nights the first few weeks on Robin’s chest as she lay propped on a mountain of sofa pillows.  It wasn’t pretty, but it worked at the time.

We still thought we wanted to get him in his crib or cradle as soon as possible.  Sleeping with your baby was kind of weird, I thought.  After all, we weren’t smelly hippies.  But after awhile, I started to notice that having him there in bed with me made life easier.  I could feed him more quickly and easily in the night without even fully waking up.  And cuddling his innocent, sleeping self was kind of nice.  I felt connected to him; I always knew how he’d slept and, if he woke up a lot, I usually knew what was bothering him.  I admitted to Robin that I kind of liked sleeping with Miles at least part time.  Could we possibly become okay with being those people?

Q: Wouldn’t everyone sleep better if Miles were in his own crib?

Heavenly sleep.

A: Not necessarily.  Every baby is different, and Miles seems to prefer sleeping with us.  Now that we’re used to him, we sleep pretty well most nights too.  When we put him in a crib in a separate room, he wakes more and cries more.  When we tried to force it for several nights despite his protests, he lost his appetite and hardly ate for several days.  Was he manipulating us?  Were we caving in?  I don’t think so.  Where’s the line between manipulation and being really gosh-darn clear about a need?  I guess it depends on whether you think Miles is “securely attached” to us or “spoiled.”

According to Dr. Sears, when mothers and babies sleep together, they both sleep better.  I’ve actually found that to be true for us, though I don’t think it’s true for everyone.  When Miles wakes up in the night to eat, it’s easy to respond immediately, roll over, feed him and fall back asleep.  I hardly have to wake up.  When we’ve tried him in a crib and cradle, I usually don’t hear him until he’s wide awake and screaming.  Then feeding and getting back to sleep take a lot longer.  However, Kathleen Huggins argues that co-sleeping babies and mothers do wake more often and that this is a good thing (????!!!) because it lessens the risk of SIDS.  She also writes, “Even though bed-sharing mothers and babies wake more frequently, they go back to sleep sooner and so get more sleep overall than mothers and babies who sleep separately.”

This is not true for everyone.  I have a friend who tried co-sleeping and abandoned it because she couldn’t relax and because her daughter was so excited by her presence that she would wake up lots and want to play.  Plus, my friend missed cuddling with her husband.  Which brings us to the next question…

Q: Doesn’t co-sleeping interfere with your “special adult time”?

A: Ewwwwwww.  That’s exactly the kind of stuff we don’t talk about on a blog our parents read!  But if you have questions about that aspect of bed-sharing, read up on Dr. Sears.  He addresses this question somewhat delicately in his book.

 

 

Right where I wanna be.

Q: Isn’t he overly dependent on you?  Like, can he even sleep by himself?  Isn’t he going to turn into some kind of clingy mama’s boy?

 

A: Naw, we’re not worried about that.  Miles takes his daytime naps alone in his crib.  And he goes down to sleep alone at 7 p.m., long before we retire for the night.  He knows how to sleep alone, he just feels better and safer with us.  As for his being dependent on us in general, duh, he’s a baby.  It comes back to that question of what it means to be spoiled.  Recently, an acquaintance was holding Miles and he was crying.  As I walked toward them, he looked at me and stopped crying.  “Look how spoiled he is!” she exclaimed, “He stops crying when mom is near.”  Uh, I thought that was called a mother-child bond?  Again, it depends on your parenting philosophy and your attitude about kids.

Plus, Kathleen Huggins writes that “researchers have suggested that babies who sleep with their mothers develop into children who are independent, sociable, confident, and well able to handle stress.”  Hey, it may be total BS, but it helps us feel better about our choice.

I’ve found that the more parenting books you read, the more you realize that no one really knows.  No one really knows the right way to be a parent, and they can’t tell you how your child will turn out.  Two books written by two different doctors, both claiming to be based on “research” will directly contradict each other.

So you know what?  All the books, even the ones that validate us, can go jump off a cliff.  I’m going to go cuddle my baby and fall asleep to the sound of his soft sighs.

Sweet spot.

First night home -- sleeping on Mommy.

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