Like all new parents, we spent a lot of time and attention outfitting a nursery. We had to have the right furniture, and it had to be in just the right location. Despite the fact that babies have been adequately raised for thousands, if not millions, of years without such pleasantries as a diaper genie, it’s inconceivable in this modern world to do so. I continue to assert that the only thing a child needs to lead a healthy life is some clothes, a stick and a rock. Not everyone shares my opinion however, including my wife.
As responsible white collar American parents, we devoutly performed our consumer duty and purchased changing tables, baby monitors, mobiles of various types and a crib.
The baby changing table is a god send. Don’t get me wrong, I still think you could use the hood of your car, a large flat rock, or a particularly stable cow to change diapers, but I’ll admit that the changing table is an improvement.
The crib, however, has been next to useless.
Logan would not sleep in either it, or the bassinet. As soon as you put him down, he’d start crying. If he fell asleep, and then you put him down, he’d wake up and then start crying. He just wouldn’t put up with the separation from his mother. Attempting to wait out his crying and force him to sleep in the bassinet lasted approximately 3 minutes on the first attempt. Since then, he’s been sleeping in the bed with us.
Which isn’t all bad. Since he’s being breast fed, rolling over to pop a boob in his hungry and eager maw is far preferable to his mother than if she had to get up and walk around. Which is nice, but didn’t solve the problem of needing 100% huggy time for any sleeping activity. Putting Logan down for a nap was like anchoring a boat. In this example, his mother and I where the boat. Anchored. Unable to really do anything else.
So, when my mother casually mentioned that she had put the baby in his crib for a nap, I was understandably surprised and not a little bit skeptical. It was something of a mystery. I didn’t think my mother would leave the baby locked in a closet buried under pillows to muffle the crying, but I had established that he would not sleep in the crib as a physical law of nature.
Sure enough though, there he was. Sleeping. In the crib. By himself. I did what any responsible parent would do.
I cackled gleefully and ran out of the house. I did not go to the strip club.
When I interrogated my mother about the sequence of events that led to Logan sleeping by himself in the crib, I expected a long tale of fantastical and intricate plot. Perhaps it was the result of an out of control laboratory experiment to study the hibernation principles exhibited by the meerkat? Maybe Scientoligsts had popped in to remove all his engrams? It was possible, although admittedly far fetched, that polar bears had adopted Logan as their king, spirited him away for a rousing adventure rescuing chicken tacos from being enslaved by postal workers in the Ukraine, and he had become so sleepy on his journey that he just had to lay down for a nap upon his return.
“Oh it was easy,” my mom claimed. “Just give him his pacifier, wrap him up in a blankie and rock him without making eye contact.”
That was it. That was her entire explanation.
I was dubious.
But I was also desperate, and I had no polar bears or Ukrainian postal tyranny. I was ready to try anything.
I wrapped the boy up snuggly in a light blanket, just like we did when was newborn. I gave him his binky, which he accepted gleefully. I sat in the rocker and carefully avoided eye contact by looking at the clock on the table.
90 seconds later his pacifier popped out of his mouth as he fell asleep. As I gently laid him in the crib, his eyes fluttered briefly and I froze like a deer caught trying to sneak into the house late at night without waking his wife up after stepping on a squeaky step on the stairs. I stopped moving is what I did. Almost immediately his eyes closed again and I tiptoed out of the room. Whereupon I did what any responsible parent would do. I played Call of Duty for an hour.
When next I saw my mother I demanded, “What other gypsy grandma tricks are you hiding from me!”
Since then I’ve used this trick frequently with a 100% success rate. Sometimes it takes 15 minutes, sometimes it only takes a few minutes. The median appears to be about 5-8 minutes, but it works every time. The key is two fold. You have to swaddled the infant so that the arms are secure and you must avoid eye contact.
With any luck this boy will be sleeping in his own bed all night long. Hopefully by the time he’s in high school.
