Detachment Parenting

My wife keeps hammering out these fantastic blog posts. Which blog posts? Blog posts like this:

Sleep / Training

Every time I hear the term "attachment parenting," a part of me winces. Like it's been poked. That's because I practice "detachment parenting." They key tenet of my philosophy is not getting so close (emotionally? physically?) that his casual cruelty and selfishness overcomes my self control. Oh, there have been times when the rage builds up and I have to scream into a pillow. I've punched mattresses. I've ordered sandwiches. Lapses in self control that have not, because of my detachment approach, resulted in the lad's death.

Can I get a medal for this? Are there doctors writing articles about how amazing it is that some dads manage to care for tiny children without succumbing to logical and natural violent urges? We have a crucial non-role to play in our children's lives, and we deserve some praise, I think.

And we're tired of sleeping on the edge of the bed, so hurry up and sleep through the night, kid.

UPDATE: For you students of dramatic irony out there, it is never a good sign when someone writes an up-date to a post about not killing their toddler.

Today, at around 4:30 pm, I nearly semi-eviscerated my 16 month son. When we open the dishwasher, he scrambles in an attempt to climb into it. We endeavor to close the door as rapidly as possible in order to prevent this. So far so good. Everything is very logical and non-criminal. Right?

He got too close. The door... well, it got him. In the belly. I felt the need to use rubbing alcohol.

That is a solid strike against my pledge to "kill no sons." I hope this doesn't count against me in June. It would be a pity if Clinton walked away with my award... again!

Requisite post about sleeping

I just set the kid (16 months today) down in his crib and read a book until he quietly went to sleep. There was a little fuss and play, but in the end it only took about ten minutes. This is a new thing, and I think I really like it. But we didn't start here!

Phase 1 -- Before he was born, friends bought us Harvey Karp's book and DVD, Happiest Baby on the Block. When the lad was born, I was ready. But it didn't work. He'd be pinned down on my knee, swaddled and screaming. And I'd be bouncing him and shhhhing at him like an idiot. I think it worked twice.

Phase 2 -- Then we discovered Baby Got Colic. I was done shhhhhing, and it worked slightly better.

Phase 3 -- Some other friends bought us a pink, butterfly swing. We would strap the little man into this contraption and crank up the Colic, and he would eventually stop screaming. Then, we'd tip-toe around and whisper for 40 minutes or so or until he woke up. We eventually got pretty sophisticated, adopting a sheet to cover it with (to block out distractions, he's particularly prone to distractions). For a while, it was in the bedroom, but we felt bad about leaving him in it all night. He'd be cold in the morning. My daddish heart trembles at the idea.

Phase 4 -- In the summer, I couldn't swing him because he wouldn't stand being swaddled in all that heat. So I started trying to get him to sleep while drinking milk from a bottle. With his lip tie, eating was such an exhausting process that he'd often pass out just a few ounces into his lunch. BUT, then I had to hold the bottle just so. He'd wake up periodically to continue eating. Sometimes, I could switch in a pacifier, but he's never really been any good at those. If he ran out of food too early, he'd wake up and refuse to sleep for several more hours. Ha!

Phase 5 -- If he didn't fall asleep eating, I had to throw him into the ERGO Baby and go for a long walk. In the summer heat. It wasn't guaranteed to work. I was often exhausted when he eventually nodded off. I got particularly good at knowing which sidewalks were flat, shady, and devoid of loud vehicles.

Phase 6 -- This was our longest phase. Somewhere over the summer, he started falling asleep in the car. It was an easy transition to stroller. So we tossed him in the stroller and drove until he passed out. Then, we'd either just keep walking (10 minutes to Forest Hills and back. Rinse and repeat) or try to get him up the creaky stairs to our second floor apartment. If I had the wife, I'd risk it (her boobs work sleep magic).

Phase 7 -- This phase sometimes overlapped with six. If the wife was gone during the evening (class or yoga), I'd have to put the lad to sleep without her boob-aid. I'd bounce him, dance to Goat Rodeo, sing lullabies, and eventually set him in to the crib. 5% of the time, he'd be asleep. Otherwise, he'd scream while I sat out in the darkened apartment hating myself. Eventually, I got good at holding his hand, rubbing his back, and singing incessantly. I developed additional verses to Baa Baa Black Sheep (there are more and more bags. Spoiler alert, The Master always gets the most, the Dame usually gets two or three. The Boy who lives down the lane? One bag. Every time. I think I'm teaching him about economics.).

And now this. This is much better. If it lasts.