Excerpt: The Sleep Trainer
How I gradually came around to the cry-it-out method.
by Sam Apple
June 3, 2009
"Quick, turn up the TV," I said. "We can't listen to the screaming."
Jennifer turned the volume almost all the way up, but behind the roar of The Simpsons we could still hear our son wailing. "I can't do this," Jennifer said. "I'm going out on the balcony."
"Okay," I said. I spread out on the floor and tried to watch The Simpsons. Then I got up and opened the door to the balcony.
"I think it's been five minutes," I said.
Jennifer checked the time on her cellphone. "It's been less than two minutes," she said.
"Right," I said. I lay down again, listened to Isaac, and got back up.
"Is it five minutes yet?" I asked.
"It's not even three," Jennifer said.
"All right, well, maybe I should just go. I mean, by the time I get there . . ."
We both appreciated that it took only ten seconds to walk to his crib, but Jennifer could hear Isaac through the open door and she was breaking down along with me.
"Okay, just go," she said.
I returned to Isaac's crib. My plan was to reassure him that he was not alone, put his pacifier back in his mouth, and then walk away.
On the second night he cried for a total of ten minutes.Two minutes later, Jennifer appeared and found me hunched over the crib.
"He got me again," I said, grateful that I could not see Jennifer's expression in the dark. "We'll start tomorrow night."
The next night it seemed as though Isaac might not be feeling well and we both agreed that we couldn't let him cry. And then we lost our momentum. Isaac might have been ready for Ferber, but Jennifer and I weren't ready to Ferberize.
We didn't give up altogether. Every month or so, after a bad night, I would catch Jennifer flipping through Ferber's book. And midway through the ninth month of Isaac's life, we decided to give it one more shot. Jennifer
went out onto the balcony again and I turned up the TV.
I only made it to four minutes, but after giving Isaac his pacifier, I managed to get away. Isaac cried for a total of thirteen minutes that night, much less than I had expected. On the second night he cried for a total of ten minutes.
On the third night, he was silent even before the initial five minutes were up. And on the fourth night, when I put Isaac down and walked away, he didn't make a sound.
I stood by the door and waited for the scream for another minute but there was only silence. It felt so miraculous that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a rainbow when I walked back into our bedroom.
Jennifer and I hugged, and then looked at each other.
"I'm worried something is wrong," I said.
"Me too," Jennifer said.
"Maybe I should go check?"
"No," Jennifer said.
A minute passed, and still silence. "Okay, maybe you should go check," Jennifer said.
I waited a few minutes and then opened the door and stepped out. Isaac was standing in his crib in silence, gazing at me. I could barely breathe.
"Okay, just, um, uh, good night," I said. I turned around and raced back to the bedroom.
"What's he doing?" Jennifer asked.
"He's just standing there."
"Just standing there?"
"Yeah."
Jennifer looked like she might faint from amazement.
"We're parenting geniuses," I said.
This is an excerpt taken from the sleep chapter of American Parent: My Strange and Surprising Adventures in Modern Babyland, a book part memoir and part history of parenting. It came out June 2, 2009, from Ballantine Books. You can buy it here.
About the Author
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Sam Apple's work has appeared in The New York Times Magazine, ESPN The Magazine, and Slate.com, among many other publications. His first
book, Schlepping Through the Alps, was named a finalist for the PEN America award for a first work of nonfiction. In 2005 he received the
annual Faux Faulkner award. Apple's new book, American Parent, is on sale now. |
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