Paging Dr. Ferber...

I am up at 2:25 am, typing this blog while I listen to the anguished cries of my ten-month-old.

We're sleep-training here at The Chandler Chateau.

For those of you unfamiliar with this harrowing ritual, let me offer the Cliff's Notes: when the exhausted parents of an infant finally decide it is time they got more sleep, or, when the weary breastfeeding mother is convinced her boob is going to fall off from over-use, we enter the world of Dr. Ferber, Sleepyplanet and all related schools of thought: we gently ignore the baby at night. I'm not quite sure there's a gentle way to ignore a baby, but in the sleep-training world that means that when the baby wakes and cries, instead of picking him up, you enter the baby's room once every ten minutes or so to let him know you are still there, you love him, but it's time to go to sleep. You do not touch the baby, but lean in to his room and offer in a gentle tone of voice: "Hi sweetie-pie. It's time to go back to sleep now. I know you can do it. I love you. Night-night." You feel quite silly doing this, but you get used to it, as these books insist this will be the key to your sanity. Then you leave the room quickly, covering your ears as you go, because your child will inevitably let loose with a wail that could wake the dead. You climb wearily into your bed and wait another ten minutes, and repeat. Lean in, gentle tone of voice: "Hi sweetie-pie. It's time to go back to sleep now, or Mama's going to have to take heavy medication. Mama doesn't want to do that, so go to sleep, sweetie. Night-night." Ten minutes, repeat: "Hello, sweetie pie. Mama's ready for a straightjacket, so it's best we get right to sleep! Love you, you little bastard. Night-night." In theory, your baby will eventually get the message that you are indeed right there in the next room, but it's time for him to learn to soothe himself to sleep without the help of you or your weary boob.

Addie was a snap to sleep-train. It took two days tops; in fact, I could swear he saw reason the first time we wandered in there to "gently" tell him he was on his own. I could almost hear him thinking, "Oh, okay. I get it. They want to get some sleep. I guess they deserve that. I guess now's as good a time as any to learn to count sheep." By the end of Night Two, he was down at 8:30 pm and waking at 7:30 am, which he does to this day. Wow, we thought. This Ferber stuff really works.

Judging from the ten-month-old who is still wailing in his room as I type this, I'm now convinced Dr. Ferber is full of crap.

With Tucker, we have attempted to sleep-train him almost every single week since he was seven months old. I suppose "attempting" to sleep-train was our first mistake, as the advocates of this method will insist that "there is no TRY". You have to just DO, and if you falter, you will be back at Square One. This puts an inordinate amount of pressure on the parents. As with all things parental, the first lesson you learn is that the easiest route is almost never the best route. But the easiest route is SO tempting. (Example: Family is shopping at supermarket. Kid wants box of animal crackers. Mom says no. Kid screams at top of lungs. Easy solution: give kid box. Avoid full-blown tantrum. Tough solution: teach kid that throwing fit will not get him what he wants. But as kid is throwing himself on the Barnum's Animal Cracker display and passers-by are staring, the easy solution is right there, hovering like a demon... "It's only one itsy-bitsy little box of cookies...") And so it goes.

We parents spend every day resisting temptation (and also picking our battles and deciding when it's OK to give in). This lesson starts with sleep-training. When the baby cries, you realize that the EASIEST thing to do is just wake up and nurse him. It works like a charm every time, the demon whispers seductively. Baby settles back down, and in twenty minutes you can be back in your cozy bed...

But you cannot succumb, say the books. Succumb, and the baby gets the message that all he has to do is cry- for five minutes, twenty, forty-five- and you'll come get him. The only solution is to NOT pick him up. Be consistent, they tell you. It's the only way. Easy for them to say. They aren't in your house, listening to your child do his best Mercedes McCambridge impersonation down the hall.

While I'm on the subject, I must tell you that in general, I no longer read books when it comes to raising my kids. When I'm truly in a mental pickle about a particular behavior, I might look something up... but most of the time, my instincts usually steer me in the right direction. Moreover, I have found that these books are missing one key element. Sure, they offer tricks, tips and solutions. But they never go that one step further and tell you what to do when the tricks, tips and solutions don't work. And so often, they DO NOT. I remember when Addie was two and flat-out refusing to be put into his car seat. The books offered many sound techniques. "Make it a game! Say, 'Let's see how fast we can put our straps on! Ready, set, GO!'" Cute. Except when I tried this adorable little game with Addie, he looked at me as if I had three heads. In the end, you're still standing out in traffic with a child who is arching his back with the strength of ten men and will not comply. What then? The books don't address that. And ladies and gentlemen, THAT'S the book I want. The one that says, "If the game doesn't work, take your right elbow and gently but firmly push it into your child's abdomen. Press down until child's buttocks touch the chair. Ignore screams of protest. While holding child down with right elbow and forearm, take left hand and quickly shove strap around child's writhing right shoulder, taking care not to dislocate shoulder. Quickly lift right forearm and snap restraints before child has a chance to wrench body up again. Once restraints are securely fastened, calmly tell child that if he ever does that again he will be arrested and sent to jail."

But back to our sleep-deprived household. In our defense, we have had a few natural disasters thwart our efforts. Travel messes it up, and we've done our fair share of that. Illness messes it up, and we're convinced that just when we were on the right path, Tucker decided that the best way to combat Dr. Ferber's evil was to simply come down with swine flu. The boy couldn't have been more right; his scheme worked, and we sat up with him night after night for a solid week. The baby gets used to this star treatment, so that when he's well again and you the parent are walking into walls from lack of sleep, he just can't understand when you change the rules and suddenly won't pick him up every two hours.

May I take this moment to mention that just to make it confusing for parents, there are a host of specialists who will tell you there is nothing worse you can do for your baby's sensitive young brain than sleep-train. They will tell you you are damaging him for life by ignoring his primal needs. They will convince you that you are going against nature, and the results will be potentially devastating. As you listen to the plantive cries of your child in the wee hours of the morning, you will wonder if Charles Manson was sleep-trained. You will be certain the Unabomber plotted his revenge from his crib between ten-minute check-ins.

The advocates for sleep-training tell you the opposite is true, that to allow a baby to wake and feed at night after a certain age is disrupting crucial REM sleep, which is essential to brain growth. Who do you believe? In the end, you gotta go with your gut.

For the Chandlers and many others, ultimately the quest for parental sanity wins. Let it be known that an infant with a sleep-deprived mother is also in danger of being damaged for life. I agree with most experts that a three-month-old is too young to be ignored at night, but more to the point, that choice wouldn't have felt right for me. But my sturdy, pizza-and burger-eating ten-month old? He is fully capable of sleeping through the night, damn it. He just doesn't know it yet. He doesn't trust. I will make him see. I have vays of making him sleep.

Silence through the household. Not a creature is stirring. I have been typing for an hour. He's finally given up. It worked... this time. He may begin to cry again in fifteen minutes, an hour, two. And our mettle will be tested yet again. Every cry is a new test, from now until forever. It would be so easy to just sit in front of my Netflix of 30 Rock Season One, and knock out an episode or two while I nurse him back to sleep...

I better go get some ZZZZZ's while the gettin's good.