on your sleep

Dear Miriam,

I type these letters, generally, while you are sleeping on my chest. You are tied on in a lovely carrier, and it frees my hands, but it does not free my body--I cannot, for instance, cook over a hot stove, or lean deep over the washing machine to transfer a load to the dryer, or eat anything particularly messy. I am constrained to work that is gentle, fairly still. It's a good thing my work, for the most part, is reading and writing, and also my preferred leisure.

Oh, sleep. Sleep is hard. Sleep is humbling me. You will not take naps in a crib, or a floor, or a bed. You generally sleep beautifully in your crib at night (once you finally succumb to sleep), but during the day you wake up five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes after I put you down. And then we start over again, and you lose out on precious sleep and become over-tired, so it is harder and harder for you to fall asleep at all.

Do you know that your mama is a researcher, baby girl? I am. It is my job, researching and teaching and writing. Of course my impulse is to research how to help you get the sleep you need (and it is so obvious that you need it). But the research is dizzyingly conflicting: this Expert says that you want and probably need movement to help you sleep; that Expert says sleep in movement isn't properly refreshing. This Expert says that I should keep your room as dark as possible for your daytime naps and always have you sleep there; that Expert says I should have you nap in the light, so you learn the difference between day and night, and nap in a busy family area to reduce the risk of SIDS. This Expert says swaddling will soothe you; that Expert says swaddling will ruin your hip joint development. This Expert says I will teach you bad habits from the beginning; that Expert says to do whatever works for the beginning. This Expert says to do whatever works for six weeks; that Expert says to do whatever works for three or four months.

And then there are the well-meaning non-experts, especially the ones whose babies were sleepy newborns. You were never a sleepy newborn. You defied all the books' descriptions of newborns.

I want to do right by you. I want to give you everything you need and as much of what you want as is good for you. I want to help you be a confident human being, capable of self-soothing. I see how happy and engaged you are when you are well-rested, and I want that for you. I am terrified that decisions I make today will affect you next week and next month and next year, perhaps for the worse.

But then, that risk--isn't that what parenting is?

I love you, baby girl. And I pray for the wisdom to parent you gently, with knowledge of who you are, and what you need. I hope for the humility to recognize that I am not seeking an A+ in parenting from any grand observer--just seeking to love you, with every moment and muscle I have.

love,
your mama