Ferber: Love to Hate 'Em

For the first two months of Taryn's life, I completely subscribed to the idea of wholeheartedly parenting her, holding her when she cried, comforting her when she needed it, feeding her when she was hungry, etc.

Then one night, when Pedro was out playing poker with his friends and I was left alone all night with the baby, for the ump-teenth time in a row before she learned to sleep at night and she was screaming her little lungs out because she was hungry and tired, but too tired to eat, and too hungry to sleep, I felt the last of my patience fly out the window like a puff of ganja on a windy day. It was one of those moments, when you have to decide: is my sanity worth sticking to my ideals, or can I let them slip just this once and take a break from being super-me and react like a normal person?

So I put Taryn in her crib, closed her bedroom door, and went downstairs to drink a beer (Dark, of course. For milk production. I swear).

And though I thought my heart would break hearing her pitiful wails through the baby monitor, I comforted myself with the knowledge that she wasn't in pain (besides a grumbly belly), and she wasn't wet or cold or otherwise in a state that I could do anything to help her. And I promised myself that at exactly five minutes I would go back upstairs and comfort her as well as I could, but at the moment, I just needed to step away.

I needed time to calm myself down, because you have to understand at that point, I hadn't slept for more than 2 hours in a row for probably 4 months. And you may be thinking, "But Taryn was only 2 months, what gives?" And if you have ever been pregnant, I will remind you of waterfalls, lakes, rain, and puddles. But if you have never been blessed with a watermelon sitting on your bladder 24 hours a day, and 2x the normal amount of blood pulsing through your system that needs cleaning and such, I'll let you know that the last trimester is hell on your aching bladder, and I couldn't go more than a couple hours without a run to the ladies room, and could only make it to 2 hours if I was alseep for most of it.

So four or five months of being sleep deprived, and having a human hanging on your body more hours of the day than not, a husband that is MIA, a mother who works nights, a best friend who was a gimp (love ya T!), coffee for breakfast and lunch/dinner at 3pm, and hot-ass California weather, and hopefully you may have a better understanding of how desperate I was for a break from the crying (As a side-note for those of you without kids, crying peaks between 6-8 weeks in newborns, normally).

And at about 4 1/2 minutes, I went back upstairs and stood outside her door poised to rescue my darling baby from her sea of salty tears when suddenly ... the crying stopped.

So I waited.

And waited.

And finally realized that she had cried herself to sleep.

I also realized that Ferber might have had something going in his little "Cry It Out" idea. Because though some kids can wail for hours, Taryn isn't one of them, unless something is really wrong. And when she gets so tired she can't eat, and won't settle down to sleep, I've found that one of the best things I can do is to put her down, let her wail for 3 or 4 minutes until she conks out, and after 10 minutes or so of fitful sleep, she's calm enough to nurse, then sleep for much longer when her belly is full.

Don't get me wrong, I've done this three times in the last 6 weeks, since that one fateful night, and each time (like today, like right now) she will only sleep for a short time before she is awake again, and ready to start over. So I don't see how this is a long-term solution, but it works for us when nothing else will as a short-term solution.

I do think that people who do this regularly have something else going on, I mean, from what I've read, it's supposed to take only a few nights for the child to learn that crying won't bring mommy or daddy in, so they just go to sleep, but really, do I want to teach my baby that she can't count on me coming to comfort her when she crys? I want Taryn to know that when she needs me, I'm there. That's my job right now, and I am helping her learn to sleep in other ways.

And maybe I'm wrong, I mean, obviously Dr. Ferber has a massive following, or else I wouldn't know him from homeboy down the street, but I think I'd rather teach my baby not to be a spoiled, egocentric, sissy-brat, than to deal with the realities of her growing up without a sense of trust. We'll see.