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crying

BabiesPopular PostsThe Story

Watch Me Break Mommy Blogger Commandment #1

by Jill January 9, 2012
written by Jill

Thou Shalt Not Write About Letting Babies Cry

Oh yeah, I’m going there.

You know, for as much as I like to tell readers that I’m honest about the good and the bad, there is one subject on this blog I just avoid as much as blogging about religion- SLEEP TRAINING.

It’s time to cut the crap and drop this veil of secrecy that forces me to direct message and privately respond to questions about letting my baby cry herself to sleep. F all of this.

My one year old? She cries. Sometimes for long stretches. Sometimes while I lay in my bed, wide awake, fully aware that she is pissed as all hell that I am not there to pick her up and play peek-a-boo at 3 in the morning.

And I’M OKAY WITH THAT.

You don’t have to be okay with that, but you shouldn’t really care about that because, you know, I’m not making you make your baby cry herself to sleep. Just mine.

Oh, some of you may be disgusted by this admission. There are studies, I’m sure, that you will link me to. You may think I’m a bad example of a mommy blogger for encouraging such a parenting technique.

I’ve never claimed to be the perfect example, but I’ve always prided myself on my transparency… and this is something I should just quit trying to dance around.

I’m not writing about this to say what I’m doing is “right,” but please don’t view this as a plea for help, and for the love of  GAWD no book recommendations. I’m barely getting enough sleep to operate a moving vehicle these days. Unless you’re going to volunteer to come over here and re-enact the book with puppets and flash cards in short, attention-grabbing bursts, I just don’t have the time or the energy. (And I read plenty of books when Kendall went through all of this 3 years ago.)

Letting her cry was not our first choice. It’s not like I enjoy it. We’ve tried “gentle” techniques, but everything “gentle” just pisses her off more. It’s come to the point where it feels like the most fair compromise is one that equals her being pissed for a shorter time period (which is totally what happens when she’s left to cry on her own versus us hanging out, patting her back, but refusing to feed her) and lets me get 4 or more consecutive hours of sleep.

I’m trying not to go into defensive mode here because I don’t feel like I need to defend this choice. I’ll just add that she’s a YEAR old, not a week old. She does NOT need to eat every 3 hours anymore. She does not have an ear infection or any other ailment. She just needs to figure out how to sleep… and no, we’re not co-sleeping. It’s not an option for us. No, we don’t just leave her in there to cry all night, but it’s more of a judgement call thing than a every-5-minutes thing.

What it’s really boiled down to is that my children need and DESERVE a functioning mother during the day. I can NOT function without sleep. In fact, I’m confident the lack of sleep the last year has been a huge contributing factor to my postpartum anxiety, and the days following a few measly hours of sleep are awful, even with medication and a gallon of coffee.

Honestly, I don’t think babies need to be soothed every time they cry. Sure, when they are younger than 6 months, or they’re sick or hungry, yes, they should be tended to quickly. But, sometimes they’re just annoyed or pissed, and that’s okay. They can feel that way. Those are emotions they can navigate on their own sometimes.

That’s MY philosophy, one that I’m comfortable with, knowing what I know, and having been through this parenting thing more than once now.

It doesn’t have to be your philosophy, but please don’t equate me letting my 26 lb one year old cry and throw tantrums in her bed at 3 in the morning because I won’t feed her magic-sleepy-milk for the 2nd time in 3 hours to child abuse.

And for those of you in a similar situation, the only advice I can give is to go with your gut. Sure, read books if you have the time, but mainly, read your baby’s cues and what feels right to you.

I truly feel that most parents are trying really hard not to screw up their kids, and I’m sure very few take the decision to let their baby cry in the middle of the night lightly. So can we please stop demonizing educated parents who feel like this is their only option?

Edited to add- 

People, people, PLEASE understand the difference between me letting my ONE YEAR OLD cry for UP TO 10-15 minutes at a time and letting a newborn scream for 8 hours, hyperventilate, choke on their vomit, kill their brain cells, etc. 

I thought I made it clear when I clarified twice that she’s A YEAR OLD, that I think any baby under 6 months should be tended to quickly, or any baby who is sick. I didn’t think I’d have to spell. that. all. out. But I guess I do because so many are assuming I’m advocating locking a baby of any age in a dark room to scream incessantly, regardless of circumstance.

So, let’s all be clear that that is not my stance. 

Just as I advocate and practice safe co-sleeping (though we don’t do it any longer), a parenting choice that many jump to conclusions about and demonize, referring to parents who do it as “uneducated” and “lazy,” I also practice “safe” and responsible sleep-training, which is obviously another polarizing parenting choice people are quick to jump to conclusions about. 

If you are the mother of a newborn considering leaving your baby in her cold, dark room for 8 hours to scream and cry while you’re drinking and watching a Lost marathon on Netflix, then I encourage you to do more research than just reading my blog post and taking what I have to say as medical and professional advice.  (That disclaimer was actually necessary because I’ve had several people tell me I just encouraged that behavior by posting this blog. I’ll also be sure to make a disclaimer that parents shouldn’t co-sleep with boa constrictors and meat cleavers in their bed the next time I talk about that… just so I’ve covered all my bases.)

January 9, 2012 245 comments
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ParenthoodStuffThe Story

Ever had one of those days?

by Jill August 6, 2009
written by Jill

Ever had one of those days where you’re not the only one who wakes up on the wrong side of the bed? You’re pretty sure your kid woke up on such the wrong side that it’s possible that he got in a bar fight in Australia while sleeping? (I found Kendall with blood smeared all over his face this morning, crusted in some parts, fresh in others. After freaking out and wiping it away, I discovered all this horror emanated from a few measly scratches on his nose and cheek. From what? I have no fucking idea.  I can only guess that said bar fight entailed him standing at one end of his crib, launching himself to the other end, and bouncing backwards, old skool WWF style, smacking his face on a crib rail because he likes to do this. I’ve seen him.)

Ever had one of those days where one minute your kid is safely on the ground, the next he’s scaled the chair and is atop the kitchen table, inches away from pushing a crystal fruit bowl, which never has any fruit in it and always has dog hair in it, off the top of the table to the tile floor below? Then, just minutes after putting him back on the floor and removing the chairs, you turn around to find he has pushed a chair back and is reaching for the table again, except this time he’s not going to make it because the chair is shifting beneath him and you fight back the visions of his cracked head on your white kitchen tile, which you HATE because WHO puts WHITE tile in a kitchen (people with no pets or children, that’s who), as you sprint across the kitchen to save him. Again. And you make it just in time, but right as you’re grabbing him you slip on a giant puddle of water he has intentionally spilled from his sippy cup to make, what appears to be, a mommy booby trap of sorts, and you slice the side of your toe open on what is henceforth called THE TABLE OF DEATH? Ever had one of those days that you’ve single handedly saved your kid’s life three times by 9 am?

Ever had one of those days where you sat in your “room you know not what to do with”, the room with all the big toys, which would be PERFECT if it were padded, had a door, and didn’t have a desk, computer and a drawer full of staples and tacks in it, and felt like just crying? Just stared at all those loud, obnoxious toys that he wants nothing to do with and watched him scale a Little Tykes slide and revel in going down it face first, completely ignoring your “feet first!” pleas? 

Ever had one of those days that you looked around your messy, unorganized house, looked in your empty refrigerator and nightmare of a pantry and wondered who the hell ever decided you were fit for the job of mom?

Ever wonder if you could even make it through the day without breaking down and crying and coming quite close to actually doing so when you finally make it to Gymboree, come hell or high water or missed naps, all so the primate who has taken over your sons body can have a safe, soft place to throw himself around, only to discover that he doesn’t want to play at Gymboree? He wants you to hold him. He wants a nap. He doesn’t want to climb the soft cushions and land in a sea of soft balls. You take him home and he doesn’t want to nap, he doesn’t want you to hold him, he wants to fling himself off the ottoman, head first, backwards.

Ever had one of those days where you’re ready for a whole bottle of wine by 1:30? Ever had one of those days?

Kendall is 15 months and 4 days old and has mastered the art of climbing and is one step away from bungee jumping without a rope

August 6, 2009 15 comments
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BabiesThe Story

The 2 Second Rule – Never let them see you flinch

by Jill January 3, 2009
written by Jill

As I type this, the gooseegg on my son’s forehead is growing larger by the second.  The bruise appears to be getting darker, yet Kendall seems unfazed as he happily munches and sucks on his mesh feeder full of frozen mango.  I wish I could say this was the first/only/last noggin blemish he has or will experience, but so far it’s just the most prominent since it happens to be right above his eye and not covered by any hair.  In fact, it seems no matter how many times he lets go of something while standing and hits his head on the way down he just doesn’t get that next time he will get the same result.  I guess he hasn’t reached that mental milestone yet.  Or do men ever really get that concept?  Perhaps they do.  It’s just that they don’t really care.

Maybe that’s the case here because many times it seems Kendall just doesn’t really care about the pain inflicted by the corner of the wall as he smacks his cheek against it and slides all the way down to the baseboard.  Other times, a seemingly innocuous topple can send him into a wail that can rival a fire engine.  I can’t quite figure out the equation that equals a scream for mommy’s quick rescue.

Fully standing + smacking right temple on exersaucer + landing on butt = a brief pause, followed by a devilish glance back at the very same thing that assaulted him, and a giggle.  Pulled to knees + face planting into the carpet = puckered lips and whimpering.  Hanging onto the pantry door with one hand + letting go only to find out that gravity is a bitch + cracking his head on the hinge on the way down = a cry for mom that almost convinced me he had a concussion.

And every single time I see him start to falter, I want so badly to run for him and catch him.  Every time I see him land, I want to gasp out loud because my gut reaction is horror, honestly.  But, I don’t. He falls if I can’t help it, which ( since I don’t make it a practice to follow him around the house with a pillow in hand) is quite often, and instead of shouting what is going through my head “*GASP* OH MY GOD!! ARE YOU OKAY??!!!  I AM SO SORRY!  I AM THE WORST MOTHER EVER!!!”,   I wait those very important 2 seconds.  Those 2 very long seconds when HE decides if he’s going to care about the pain.

It’s one of those lessons…straight from the invisible book of parenthood.  Don’t let them see you flinch.  Fake it till you make it.  When you see them fall and you want to scream out and rush to kiss their boo boos – DON’T.  Instead, put a big fat smile on that face of yours and say as loud as possible, “Whoopsie!”  or “Uh oh!” or something similarly lame. Oddly enough, this seems to work about 70 percent of the time.  Even after falls that make ME want to cry. But it all rides on those 2 seconds where he lies there silently twisting his face into what will either become a grin sometimes followed by a giggle or silent gasping scream.  And I just wait and watch with a smile as big as I can make it.

Nobody ever really told me about this “rule”.  I guess it comes after witnessing kids and babies respond to how their parents react.  However, I did read something a while back in the surprisingly alarmist book about baby food called  Super Baby Food that I think takes the theory to a level of ridiculousness.  Author Ruth Yaron warns in Chapter 3 on Baby’s First Meal, sub-section “Poop Panic”:

Remember to keep your facial expression pleasant when you are changing your baby’s diaper.  (With some poops, this may be a real challenge!)  He will notice any look of disgust on your face, which may teach him that his private parts are repulsive and lead him to believe that sex is “dirty” when he gets older.

Well, thank you for that Ruth!  We FINALLY get to the heart of the matter.  Because of your insight, I’ll know exactly why my son will end up in therapy.  Surely not because of the crying it out, but because of the expression on my face when I peel that diaper open to find whipped sweet potatoes dotted with chunks of peas that strangely smell like buttered toast.

Kendall is 8 months and one day old and looks like he’s just finished a game of rugby

January 3, 2009 6 comments
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BabiesThe Story

What is your malfunction???!!!!!

by Jill May 20, 2008
written by Jill

Stop crying…just stop…stop… please…. PLEASE STOP… just 30 minutes…. I just want a shower…. please…. stop…. STOP!!!!   Have you officially lost your mind when you are negotiating out loud with a 2 week old?  I have lost it.  I am insane.  I have done this to myself.  What do you want?!

You are changed, you are burped, you are warm, you have napped, you just ate 1.5 hours ago…but wait, let me guess… you are hungry AGAIN!  Ugh.  Seriously?  I have a whole new respect for dairy cattle.  You do know these boobs are mine, right?  That’s right buddy, always have always will be mine.  They are merely on loan to you.  So I would treat them with a little more respect if I were you.  I don’t know what the hell you do to make my nipples burn so bad.  Do you know I want to cry just THINKING about the next time I have to pop these babies into your mouth (which is clearly lined with razor blades)?  I thought breastfeeding is supposed to be a loving, bonding experience, not cruel and unusual punishment.

And could you just, for one freaking day, be unhappy when you are on your father’s watch (however brief that may be)?  Is it seriously necessary to CRY all night long until you pass out from exhaustion at 3 in the morning?  Can you not get this out of your system from 5 to 7 pm?! I think your dad thinks I’m a lunatic, or that I’m weak, or both.  Well, he has to believe me because I make sure I call him every damn time you are shrieking while he’s gone to offer him evidence of why I’m such a raging bitch when he’s home.

I thought I could escape this cave today.  That we could all have a nice outing.  I timed it perfectly.  2 hours of freedom between feedings.  Ballet class for Hailey…. FAIL.  The last one was LAST week, which we would have known if we actually remembered to take her to it last week.  Okay, so we’ll go get some ice cream at DQ instead… FAIL. I left my wallet at home.  Go home to get wallet.  Back to the store.  You aren’t asleep anymore.  You are now getting fussy.  It’s only been 1 hour and 15 minutes since your last feeding.  I change your very dirty diaper.  Still not happy.  Head to Whole Foods in search of a new water bottle… FAIL.  You are screaming too loud to even try to look for anything.  I notice other new moms with fussy babies.  They are so sweet to them.  They rock them gently and the baby stops.  They sweetly talk to them and push them out to the car to go home. I am looking at you saying, “That is enough.  Seriously.  I don’t know what you want.  You have no reason to be crying.  Please stop.  I’m not going to listen to it anymore.”  I realize I sound like such an idiot/incompetent parent.  I quickly head back to the car. Hailey still wants ice cream.  I feel bad she’s had to listen to all this and didn’t get to go to ballet.  We head to McDonalds for shakes.  You are screaming so loud that the lady can’t even hear my order.  I am crying in line for milkshakes at McDonalds.  I get home.  Scott meets us outside to help get you out of the car.  I have called ahead for back up.  Of course, you have STOPPED FUCKING CRYING!!  I feed you.  I don’t even eat the milkshake I got for myself because it’s dairy and it’s chocolate – two things that supposedly turn you into the demon child.  See?  I have given up chocolate and ice cream for you!  Please be nicer to me.

NOW you decide to nap.  Now that you can go lay down with your dad.  I want to go nap with you, but it’s not even worth the 30 minutes of sleep I will get before you will inevitably decide you want to eat AGAIN.  Disrupted sleep is worse than no sleep sometimes.  It is a form of torture to only let someone sleep 2 hours at a time.

18 days old

May 20, 2008 13 comments
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