There are always those milestones you look forward to. The first smile. The first words. The first steps.
Then, there are those you dread. The first temper tantrum. The first bout of explosive ass disorder. The first tattoo. The first boyfriend you have to punch in the face. Can a 5-year-old take a punch?
This week, we hit one that was a little bit of both: first day of child care. We looked forward to Sydney spending time with others and beginning a life that reaches beyond the walls of our humble home. But we – well, really Brooke – dreaded the idea of Sydney facing a whole new world on her own and entrusting someone other than her parents to care for her.
Here’s how we prepared:
We set out with steely determination on the Friday before to conquer Sydney’s desire to sleep during the day and party all night. For some reason, when 11 p.m. comes around, Sydney turns into Lyndsey Lohan looking for VIP treatment at a Hollywood nightclub. She wants to rock and roll all night.
This was fine when Brooke did not have to work. She could stay up with her and then catch up on sleep when Sydney finally hit a wall and turned into Rip Van Winkle. But with Brooke returning to the classroom, it was imperative to put Sydney on a better schedule. Being the smart parents we are, we gave ourselves a whole two days to accomplish this task.
My cousin, Melissa, loaned me a book to help educate me on proper sleep habits. It is written by a doctor who is some type of sleep svengali for children. He gives great advice, but he also acknowledges 20 percent of kids will be difficult when it comes to developing good sleep habits. Believe me, a 20 percenter is occupying my house.
Previous to this day, we had spent our evenings keeping Sydney up so she would be exhausted come sleep time. This obviously did not work and it required a lot of energy on our behalf as we spent the night tossing Sydney around, teasing her with toys and even undressing and redressing her to keep her awake.
The book pointed out a different way. Dr. Svengali said to put the child to sleep EARLIER, shortly after the early-evening feeding when she showed signs of fatigue. He pointed out the early sleep time would actually help her sleep LONGER. This is fuzzy math to me, but I am no svengali. And I am desperate.
So this became part one of our strategy. Part two was advice we received from every parent we knew: shut the door and let your child cry it out. Sooner or later, she will fall asleep and after a night or two of this, she will go down easy and sleep through the night.
Getting my wife to agree with this was sort of like getting Chaz Bono to embrace his inner womanhood. She wanted to go a completely other route. I think there is an electric current that runs through her body every time Sydney cries. But I stood my ground and used the pressure from other friends to convince her we had to take this drastic step or she would roll into work every morning looking like, well, Lyndsey Lohan after a night of VIP treatment.
Armed with our two-part strategy, we roared into Friday evening ready to conquer the world. Twelve hours later, we crawled into Saturday morning ready for a six-hour nap.
Sydney went down around 8 p.m. when her eyelids looked like they were weighted down by 20-pound barbells. An hour later, she sprung awake with an indignant look of How dare you put me to sleep so early.
The next two hours consisted of Brooke and I cringing in our bedroom as we listened to our daughter scream-cry over the baby monitor. One of the worst feelings in the world. Brooke was saying things like, “I know her tiny little brain is thinking that we have abandoned her,” while tears welled in her eyes. Ouch. Take that, daddy!
Look, I am not an experienced parent. I have no idea whether we were doing the right thing. I did what I always do: I asked for advice, processed it and made a decision. I may not win any father of the year awards, but I was doing my best.
She eventually fell asleep, only to repeat the pattern a few hours later and to finally wake up for good about 5 a.m. Saturday night was not much better. By Sunday, we had abandoned our plan. Essentially, we decided to play it by ear. Put her to sleep when she was tired and hope for the best. You can imagine how that is going.
Nevertheless, Monday rolled around and it was time for our visit to Miss Amber’s house for Sydney’s first day of child care. Mom and dad would have been zombies on this day, but the nervousness over this new experience for Sydney was enough of an adrenaline rush to get us going. Our mood was somber, similar to what you might expect as you prepared for a funeral. Brooke had been crying since Friday, but this was D-Day.
I immediately started calculating our monthly obligations in my head to see if there was any way we could afford my wife quitting her job and being a stay-at-home mom. We can do it; we’ll just need to get rid of one car and move into a trailer. Brooke quickly nixed that idea.
The first thing I learned that Monday was introducing a baby into the morning routine means getting up earlier and moving around faster at a time when you’d rather plod. The second thing I learned is that you should always have a burp cloth on your dress shirt when handling a baby.
The handoff went smoothly. Miss Amber couldn’t have been nicer and more understanding of my wife’s inner turmoil. Sydney was oblivious. To her, this was no different than a trip to the grocery or doctor. Hell, it was a lot better than a trip to the doctor – no one at Miss Amber’s was going to prick her ass with a needle. At least I hope not...or we’d have a much bigger problem than day care dread.
Our drop off ended with me hugging a tearful Brooke good bye and praying everything went fine or I was going to have a basket case of a wife when I got home.
And fine it was. Miss Amber even texted us pictures of our smiling baby looking like she was spending the day on Sesame Street. I think Brooke went from worrying Sydney would be ok to worrying she liked child care more than her own home.
And the kicker? She somehow came home exhausted. We could not keep her awake. She slept for two hours. The kind of sleep where if you tickle her feet or play patty cakes with her hands she doesn’t even lift an eyelid.
Of course, that means she wasn’t tired when bed time rolled around.
Sigh.
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