At her 4-month appointment with our pediatrician, Dr. B. walked into the room and exclaimed, “Oh my, Charlotte! You look like a developmentally delayed 6-month-old!”
Sure, I could have taken this as an insult. But since I was used to big babies due to the extra-large size of babies in my family, I looked on the plus side. “Does that mean I can sneak her in the gym daycare? They have a 6-month minimum.”
Off we went the following week. When I first dropped her off, I felt like a criminal being questioned by the police. “Why do you want to know her birthday?” “Are you going to call the emergency contact? If so, what kinds of questions will you ask him?” I quickly calculated a fake birthday, making her 6 months and one day old.
“Does she sit up?” Brittany asked.
“Um, not really.” I left quickly and ran upstairs to the treadmill.
Several weeks later, as I was dropping her off, another mother stood next to me, signing her daughter in.
“Ooooh, how old is your daughter?” the mom asked.
“Ah…” I hesitated. “Six months.” I answered.
“Oh.” She paused. “So’s mine.” She squinted in the direction of our girls and forced a smile. I followed her eyes. There on the floor was her 6-month-old daughter, sitting up and stacking blocks. Next to her was Charlotte, laying in the bouncy chair and drooling on herself.
“Don’t worry,” she continued. “Lucy has a big sister. I bet that’s why she’s so advanced.”
I spent the rest of my workout entertaining the notion of tracking Lucy’s mom down to set her straight. “She’s not *that* slow,” I would explain. “It’s just that I’m sneaking her into daycare early.” I decided that would just make me look like a jerk.
I decided to let Charlotte take the fall.
So, off we go, my developmentally delayed 6-month-old and I. Back to daycare for another day of lying about our age. Who knew it started so early?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
We ferberized our baby.
Last summer Robert and I attended the wedding of one of his college buddies. Going to a stranger’s wedding, along with a bunch of other strangers, generally leads to a series of conversations that always go the same way:
“So, where are you from?”
“How do you know the bride and groom?”
“What do you do?”
“Oh, really! Accountant? That must be fascinating!”
At the time of this wedding, I was 5 months pregnant and just starting to show. Unbeknownst to me, pregnancy is a wonderful conversation starter. All the standard stranger-conversation starters are out. Instead, you spend time having what I have come to know as the standard pregnancy-conversation starters:
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“What kind of birth are you going to have?”
“Have you thought about diapering?”
“What kind of baby carrier do you have?”
Each of these conversations starts out innocently enough, with the questioner honestly curious about our future child and parenting. It quickly seems to devolve to a description of questioner’s own childrearing practice:
“We didn’t find out about our baby’s gender until we felt with our own hands. He’s a boy!”
“We had little Lance in our bathtub. It helps the baby make a smoother transition to the harshness of the outside world.”
“Oh, we’ve tried them all: BumGenius, gDiapers, Tidee Didee, Fuzzi Bunz, Mother Ease. Let me tell you about them all…”
“We only use a d-ring sling. No clasps or buttons. Baby Sydney is always close to our hearts!”
Most of the time, I am very curious about other parental styles. I enjoy talking “mom talk” and love to hear what other people do. Most of the time, this is not because I care to borrow their parenting advice.
The exception is sleep.
I believe sleep is the single most important part of a baby’s life. Maybe this is because I know how important sleep is to me. Is, and always has been. I am still the butt of the family jokes as they tell about my self-imposed early bedtime as a child. “Won’t someone put me to bed?!” I would moan at 6:30. Now I can stay up later, but not by much. “The movie doesn’t start until 7:45? Naw, I hate to pay $10 for a 2-hour nap.”
I believe that my child’s ability to sleep well, and without complaint, could prove to be a huge stress-reliever in an otherwise complicated parental role.
I believe that I need my child to sleep well so that I can sleep well.
So, as these conversations begin to turn towards sleep-training strategies, I’m all ears.
“We practice attachment parenting. Ben doesn’t sleep unless he’s being held by us!”
“I got little Sam on a schedule at 6 weeks. Otherwise you’re just spoiling the baby.”
“We did the CIO early. We Ferberized our baby.”
“Ah,” I would answer, “Attachment. CIO. Ferberize. Check!”
When we returned to our room, I would break out the computer and Google each term. As it turns out, some of them are very common terms. And, “ferberizing” one’s baby is common practice. Translation: allowing your baby to cry it out… Sort of.
Ferberizing is, most simply, a way to allow a child to cry themselves to sleep. It involves timing the child for increasingly long periods of time, intervening in between said periods of crying. Many parents view this as a less-harsh way to teach a child to get to sleep on his/her own. So, I decided this kinder, gentler way of sleep-coaching would be right for our family. It came to a head when Charlotte was waking up more and more often soon after she was put down to bed.
Despite my fears, I found parenting to be a relatively easy transition for me. My daughter’s crying does not usually upset me, except on the rarest of occasions, and I am able to deal with her emotional breakdowns with little stress. But now, when she was endlessly spitting out her pacifier and waking each 15-30 minutes, I tired of running up and down the stairs for hours a night. I finally reached the point of frustration. Begin ferberization.
Armed with a stopwatch and my sleep book, I was ready for whatever Charlotte would throw at us. Robert was willing to follow along and go with whatever happened. Being so relaxed, I was sure I would handle this with good-natured aplomb and ease. I was sure I would be calling my mom the next day, “Yeah, we sleep-trained her last night. What an easy kid!” I was mentally patting myself on the back for my grace and patience in advance.
Charlotte began crying. Instead of racing up the stairs, I looked at the clock. 8:06. We were supposed to let her cry for 5 minutes before going to her crib. I spent the first minute continuing to praise myself for my ability to handle her emotion.
By 8:08, I was covering my ears.
By 8:09, I was on the verge of tears, begging Robert to let me go to her. We raced up the stairs and into her room to replace her binky. But, according to the book, we were not supposed to pick her up. I put her binky in her mouth. She screamed. She stared at us with wide eyes, accusing us of the worst atrocities a parent could inflict on their child.
Why have you forsaken me?! She wailed. What have I done to deserve this? Her furrowed brow spoke volumes.
The 2-minute timer beeped and we left her room, despite her continued shrieking. We trudged down the stairs, slightly less prepared to handle the next ten minute crying interval. After 5 minutes, I forced Robert to head back in. Charlotte had tears streaming down her face, and I had never seen her look at us (or, anything) with such intensity. She sobbed. I looked at Robert.
“Let’s not do this now.”
I picked her up, and the three of us snuggled until Charlotte fell asleep, when I put her back down into her crib.
***
Watching her face, staring at me and sobbing, just broke my previously unbreakable heart. The Ferber method, supposed to be easy on the parent, had been far too painful for me to handle.
The following night, we revised our strategy. Instead of stopwatches and interventions, we let her cry. She cried for 11 minutes before falling asleep. Without having to look into her beautiful, sad eyes, I cried zero times. A part of me felt shame—how could I tell people that I was too heartless to use the Ferber method? What would they think of me?
This year, we will be seeing many of the same strangers from last year’s wedding. When they ask me about Charlotte’s sleep routine, I plan to tell them. I intended ferberized my baby. But it turns out she ferberized me. And I’m better-rested for it.
“So, where are you from?”
“How do you know the bride and groom?”
“What do you do?”
“Oh, really! Accountant? That must be fascinating!”
At the time of this wedding, I was 5 months pregnant and just starting to show. Unbeknownst to me, pregnancy is a wonderful conversation starter. All the standard stranger-conversation starters are out. Instead, you spend time having what I have come to know as the standard pregnancy-conversation starters:
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“What kind of birth are you going to have?”
“Have you thought about diapering?”
“What kind of baby carrier do you have?”
Each of these conversations starts out innocently enough, with the questioner honestly curious about our future child and parenting. It quickly seems to devolve to a description of questioner’s own childrearing practice:
“We didn’t find out about our baby’s gender until we felt with our own hands. He’s a boy!”
“We had little Lance in our bathtub. It helps the baby make a smoother transition to the harshness of the outside world.”
“Oh, we’ve tried them all: BumGenius, gDiapers, Tidee Didee, Fuzzi Bunz, Mother Ease. Let me tell you about them all…”
“We only use a d-ring sling. No clasps or buttons. Baby Sydney is always close to our hearts!”
Most of the time, I am very curious about other parental styles. I enjoy talking “mom talk” and love to hear what other people do. Most of the time, this is not because I care to borrow their parenting advice.
The exception is sleep.
I believe sleep is the single most important part of a baby’s life. Maybe this is because I know how important sleep is to me. Is, and always has been. I am still the butt of the family jokes as they tell about my self-imposed early bedtime as a child. “Won’t someone put me to bed?!” I would moan at 6:30. Now I can stay up later, but not by much. “The movie doesn’t start until 7:45? Naw, I hate to pay $10 for a 2-hour nap.”
I believe that my child’s ability to sleep well, and without complaint, could prove to be a huge stress-reliever in an otherwise complicated parental role.
I believe that I need my child to sleep well so that I can sleep well.
So, as these conversations begin to turn towards sleep-training strategies, I’m all ears.
“We practice attachment parenting. Ben doesn’t sleep unless he’s being held by us!”
“I got little Sam on a schedule at 6 weeks. Otherwise you’re just spoiling the baby.”
“We did the CIO early. We Ferberized our baby.”
“Ah,” I would answer, “Attachment. CIO. Ferberize. Check!”
When we returned to our room, I would break out the computer and Google each term. As it turns out, some of them are very common terms. And, “ferberizing” one’s baby is common practice. Translation: allowing your baby to cry it out… Sort of.
Ferberizing is, most simply, a way to allow a child to cry themselves to sleep. It involves timing the child for increasingly long periods of time, intervening in between said periods of crying. Many parents view this as a less-harsh way to teach a child to get to sleep on his/her own. So, I decided this kinder, gentler way of sleep-coaching would be right for our family. It came to a head when Charlotte was waking up more and more often soon after she was put down to bed.
Despite my fears, I found parenting to be a relatively easy transition for me. My daughter’s crying does not usually upset me, except on the rarest of occasions, and I am able to deal with her emotional breakdowns with little stress. But now, when she was endlessly spitting out her pacifier and waking each 15-30 minutes, I tired of running up and down the stairs for hours a night. I finally reached the point of frustration. Begin ferberization.
Armed with a stopwatch and my sleep book, I was ready for whatever Charlotte would throw at us. Robert was willing to follow along and go with whatever happened. Being so relaxed, I was sure I would handle this with good-natured aplomb and ease. I was sure I would be calling my mom the next day, “Yeah, we sleep-trained her last night. What an easy kid!” I was mentally patting myself on the back for my grace and patience in advance.
Charlotte began crying. Instead of racing up the stairs, I looked at the clock. 8:06. We were supposed to let her cry for 5 minutes before going to her crib. I spent the first minute continuing to praise myself for my ability to handle her emotion.
By 8:08, I was covering my ears.
By 8:09, I was on the verge of tears, begging Robert to let me go to her. We raced up the stairs and into her room to replace her binky. But, according to the book, we were not supposed to pick her up. I put her binky in her mouth. She screamed. She stared at us with wide eyes, accusing us of the worst atrocities a parent could inflict on their child.
Why have you forsaken me?! She wailed. What have I done to deserve this? Her furrowed brow spoke volumes.
The 2-minute timer beeped and we left her room, despite her continued shrieking. We trudged down the stairs, slightly less prepared to handle the next ten minute crying interval. After 5 minutes, I forced Robert to head back in. Charlotte had tears streaming down her face, and I had never seen her look at us (or, anything) with such intensity. She sobbed. I looked at Robert.
“Let’s not do this now.”
I picked her up, and the three of us snuggled until Charlotte fell asleep, when I put her back down into her crib.
***
Watching her face, staring at me and sobbing, just broke my previously unbreakable heart. The Ferber method, supposed to be easy on the parent, had been far too painful for me to handle.
The following night, we revised our strategy. Instead of stopwatches and interventions, we let her cry. She cried for 11 minutes before falling asleep. Without having to look into her beautiful, sad eyes, I cried zero times. A part of me felt shame—how could I tell people that I was too heartless to use the Ferber method? What would they think of me?
This year, we will be seeing many of the same strangers from last year’s wedding. When they ask me about Charlotte’s sleep routine, I plan to tell them. I intended ferberized my baby. But it turns out she ferberized me. And I’m better-rested for it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
