Four months is a great age — our baby girl gives my wife and me a big, happy smile every morning. She’s also discovered her upper vocal register, which explains her new hobby: squealing and chirping like a baby pterodactyl.
Four months isn’t such a long time, but it’s been more than a year since the baby’s arrival was heralded by a tiny plus-sign on a plastic dipstick, and it’s incredible how much more I know about babies than I did just a year ago. One of the most important things I’ve learned is that raising a baby includes learning to navigate the flood of information that washes over you as you begin the adventure of parenting — and what to do when there is no information to answer your questions.
As a new parent, you’ll find some fantastic tips coming your way. Who knew that holding your baby with her tummy on your forearm — the way a super villain holds his cat — is a great way to calm her when she’s upset?
You’ll also receive advice that’s a bit more subjective. There are all kinds of rules and imperatives: “You should do an hour of tummy-time every day, it’s crucial for her development,” and, “If you don’t start sleep training in the first six weeks, YOU ARE DOOMED!”
Some suburb-dwelling friends insisted that we absolutely MUST get that magical device called a baby monitor, so we can always hear what she is doing.
“You can’t live without it,” they said. I don’t doubt the wisdom of this for anyone who lives in big house, but is this really necessary for a couple living in the shoebox that passes for a typical New York one-bedroom apartment? Here in Brooklyn, we use electronic devices — TV, radio, air conditioner — to not hear what’s going on in the other room.
Still, other recommendations are helpful — but incomplete. If you give birth in a hospital, you’ll be shown a video about shaken baby syndrome. Its directive is simple: don’t shake the baby. (It sounds obvious, but until I saw the video, I wasn’t fully aware of the awful gravity of that message. I hope that people who deliver in other locales have someone to impress this important decree upon them as well — a savvy midwife at a homebirth, or a recording of Mayor Bloomberg saying, “Always wear your seatbelt, and remember, never shake the baby!” for parents who give birth in the back seat of a taxi.)
I understand why you don’t shake the baby, but the video came up short on the issue of “HOW do you not shake the baby?” When it’s 3 am, the baby is screaming relentlessly, and you’re barely conscious and exasperated to the point of feeling primitive Cro-Magnon reflexes starting to take over, how do you NOT shake the baby?
There’s plenty of useful information to help you, but most of it just doesn’t reflect the stark reality you sometimes face as a parent. There’s a tendency to soften the rough edges, to downplay the ugly truth. You hear people say, “It’s hard.”
As far as I’m concerned, sudoku is hard. But this is on a different level — people should warn you up front that raising a baby can be so distressing that it can turn you into a bona fide caveman.
So, how do you deal with acute frustration and flashes of temper? How do you keep from becoming a caveman? How do you not shake the baby? Now that I have some first-hand parenting experience, I may as well contribute some advice of my own. Just keep in mind that I’m not a professional, so before attempting these techniques, you may want to consult a pediatrician or local law enforcement.
If — while dealing with a raging, inconsolable infant — you feel primeval urges rising like a tide in your eyeballs, here’s what you can do: quickly and gently put the baby down in a safe place and take several steps away. Can’t shake the baby if you’re not holding it! Next, swear out loud. That’s right — get it out of your system. And don’t feel stupid or ashamed — your baby doesn’t speak English, and it’s screaming too loud to hear you anyway. It’s a scientific fact that when slipping through a time warp between our era and the Stone Age, a curse is the incantation that brings you back and closes the wormhole. After all, the power of speech is what separates us from our earliest ancestors.
Next, pop in some ear plugs. People have a hard time with this, because it makes them feel guilty, but as a parent, you’re better off if you learn the difference between well-founded guilt and misguided guilt. You see, in prehistoric times, the baby had to get your attention from all the way in the back of the cave while you were outside banging rocks together or grilling a saber-toothed squirrel. Screaming with such shocking volume was a necessity for her. Today, however, those extra decibels serve no constructive purpose, so you can protect your hearing and sanity and still keep a clear conscience.
Finally, take several deep breaths, renew your sense of nurturing kindness, and get back to helping that helpless little baby.
I hope that’s useful advice, but if not, that’s fine, too. Every parent has to decide what applies to her own situation, and most things aren’t set in stone. During a recent checkup, our pediatrician weighed in on the benefits of tummy-time for our baby: “It won’t help her sit up any earlier or get into Harvard — it’s just a fun activity for her to do.”
Certain important things need to be done by the book, but just as often, you can stop obsessing and let your instincts be your guide. Even a caveman will know the right thing to do when faced with an adorable, squealing baby pterodactyl.
Tim Perrins is a part-time, stay-at-home dad who lives with his wife and their brand-new tiny human in Park Slope, Brooklyn. More of his thoughts about babies and other things that confuse him can be found at www.RevoltOfTheImbeciles.blogspot.com.
