"Fer-ber is Murder"

Several months after Juliet was born, we realized that the reason she cried so much was because she was tired. Babies are supposed to nap. Ours didn’t.

There are a lot of ways to make babies nap. Only three work on Juliet. She naps on walks and in cars. That’s great, if you’re on a walk. Or in a car. If you’re home, Juliet only naps if you stand up and bounce her. If you put her down, she wakes up and cries. Then, it’s back to bouncing. At some point, you can’t bounce anymore.

So, you buy ten books about baby sleep habits. Each is written by a doctor. One of them will provide scientific support for your parenting style. Whatever it is.

On one end of the spectrum, there are hippy quacks who say it’s best to let your baby sleep wherever and however she wants. That’s natural, they say, and nature is beautiful. And that’s great, if you’re high.

On the other end of the spectrum is Ferber.

Ferber is controversial. Some people think it’s cruel to let babies cry. Ferber says it’s natural, and while not beautiful, a necessary evil. If you give a baby whatever she wants all the time, she’ll think that’s the way life works. She'll be spoiled. Or worse, a pussy.

To Ferberize your baby, you rock your baby until she is almost, but not quite, asleep. You put her in her crib and leave the room. She cries, but you do nothing, for three ugly minutes. Then, you go in and reassure your baby that you’re not trying to kill her by making her nap in a crib. You leave and wait six minutes the next time. Then ten. And so on. Melissa has been working on this all week. She sends me e-mails at work that say, “Mommy zero, Juliet two. I am going to kill myself.” She’ll call and say, “It’s been 45 minutes,” and she’ll hang up before I’ve said one word. I’ve told her she is overreacting.

I’m home by myself. Melissa is at pilates, working off the last of the McNugget. I’m under strict instructions to Ferberize. Juliet has been screaming for 45 minutes. No matter where I go in our apartment, I can hear her.

Fifteen more minutes pass. I go into Juliet’s room.

“It’s okay,” I say. “You’re okay. Shhh...”

Juliet stops. She looks at me and waits for me to pick her up. When she realizes what’s happening, she becomes hysterical, flapping her arms and flopping her bundle of legs up and down. Crying real tears.

I can’t take it anymore and I pick Juliet up. I bounce. She stops crying and throws up on my sweater. Her eyes begin to droop. I’m not supposed to let her fall asleep on me. Dr. Ferber says if you let your baby fall asleep on you, she’ll wake up in their crib and freak out because she’s confused. Like if you fell asleep snuggled in your bed and woke up in a field, naked. You’d be confused. Babies feel the same way. That’s what makes them freak out when they wake up in their cribs, five minutes after you put them down sound asleep.

I put Juliet back down, not asleep but close. Just before the bald spot at the back of her head touches the crib, her eyes shoot open. She screams. She cries. She snots.

It kills me.

I close my bedroom door and get in bed. I can still hear her cry, but I turn on the baby monitor. Just to see. Juliet arches her back and looks into the camera. She knows I’m on the other end, watching. Her big beautiful baby eyes are full of tears.

She hates me.

I realize why Melissa gets so upset. It’s not because listening to Juliet cry is heartbreaking. And extremely irritating. It’s because for the rest of our lives, we have to do what’s best for Juliet in the face of heart wrenching protest. One day she’ll say in English what she’s crying now. “Daddy, I fucking hate you. And where the fuck are my clothes?”

Then, Juliet’s arms stop flapping. Her leg bundle collapses. Suddenly, and for no reason, Juliet is asleep. Her arms outstretched like a little Jesus crucified by Ferberization. Napping for my sins. Melissa will be so proud. Of me and the McNugget.

I am a hero. A Ferberizer. And just as my own eyes begin to close, I hear Juliet, screaming as loud as any baby has ever screamed in the history of babies.