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Spare the Crib, Spoil the Child?

Those in favor of early crib-training claim that a baby who is allowed to stay in bed with the parents will turn into an utterly dependent, chicken-livered, quivering lump of jello who will be unable to declare loyalty between Cokeà and PepsiÃ. Conversely, those who defend the practice of sharing the family bed feel that a baby forced into early independence can spiral down into a lifetime of violence, obsession, and country line dancing in a never-ending struggle to fill the unmet needs of infancy.

Besides the psychological arguments, there are practical considerations. If you breastfeed, it is easier to feed a baby lying next to you than one lying in another room unless you have a truly unusual physique, or unless you are mechanically inclined and have a good supply of aquarium pumps and rubber tubing.

On the other hand, your best-laid plans to share the bed may get scotched by Junior's sleeping habits. Imagine the bliss of new parenthood shattered by the grisly discovery that Baby is an incorrigible blanket hog, or that she snores like a wildebeest with a sinus infection.

The worst candidate for group-sleeping is the "Hair-Trigger Spawler." This is the baby who takes up an unreasonable amount of the bed's total surface area, and who wakes up screaming at the slightest nudge. Even you ultra-progressive touchy-feely parents might think twice after a few nights scrunched on your side along the outer four inches of the mattress with your face mashed painfully against a stuffed animal, grudgingly sacrificing your requirement to breathe from both nostrils, while struggling to ease the cramp in your hamstring by not thinking about it.

No matter what the sleeping arrangement, you need to establish a bedtime routine. Rather than yank her out of some pleasant evening activity such as pulverizing crayons with a meat tenderizer, try planning ahead a little. Get her used to a gentle and familiar sequence: putting on jammies, brushing teeth, and giggling hysterically while being chased around the house before being dragged off to bed in a screaming rage of over-stimulation.

Reading a bedtime story is also recommended. We tried a book of nursery rhymes, and although Emma enjoyed the cadences, I was reminded of the old familiar brutality of that singsong world and its random acts of cruelty and senseless acts of ugliness: Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home, your house is on fire and your children are gone ... She whipped them all soundly and put them to bed ... Ding dong dell, pussy's in the well ... She cut off their tails with a carving knife ... Jack fell down and broke his crown ... Cripes, what a nasty bunch of images. I had nightmares, but Emma slept like a rock. She's still young enough to know that all the bad stuff is make-believe.

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© Todd Pinsky 1998-2002. All rights reserved.