Why I’m not letting my baby Cry It Out

Babies cry. That’s just how it is. When we were in the NICU, Sweet Pea cried, and then stopped when we picked her up and held her. She liked to be bounced, and rocked and swayed.

“Oh, you’re in trouble,” the nurses said.

I’m fine with that, because without her, there would be no Orlando Mom Blog.

This “trouble” they were referring to was that I wouldn’t be able to put her down and go about my business. She would want to be held constantly, with undivided attention, eye contact, and touch. Well, they’ve been semi right.

People ask me if Sweet Pea is a “good” baby. How am I supposed to answer that? I’m a first time mom, I don’t have experience with other babies, so other than stories I’ve heard from other mothers about their babies, I can only “rank” mine based on… I guess, heresay? How do I know if I got the “good” baby?

“Does she cry a lot?”

Oh. That’s what you meant. Yes, she cries a lot. She’s a baby, for crying out loud. (See what I did there?) Her very status, by nature, implies that she will cry numerous times throughout the day. But I’ve discovered something truly, truly amazing. Ready for it?

When she cries, it’s because she needs something.

Hot damn! Here I was led to believe that I’d be getting a tap on the shoulder or a text message everytime she was jonesing for a schmoke and a pancake. What a concept. She cries: I feed/change/burp/bounce/nap/entertain her, and she stops crying.

But what if those things don’t suffice even though she’s not sick or in pain? So far, if I pick her up, she usually stops crying. And that is when people tell me I should just let her cry it out.

First of all, insert “Grumpy Cat No.” Secondly: why?

I’m not going to stick a bunch of research here about the Ferber method or Attachment Parenting or any of that stuff you’ve probably been bombarded with. I’ve already established that when she cries, it’s because she needs something. She can’t speak yet, so she can’t tell me what she wants, she can only cry for attention and hope that we figure out what it is she’s looking for. The very fact that she stops crying when someone holds her is a good thing. It’s not pain, it’s not colic, it’s not an ear infection. She just wants some good old fashioned lovin’.

But the actual reason I won’t let her cry it out is simple. When was the last time you let anyone you cared about “cry it out?”

Let’s say your best friend just got dumped. She’s obviously upset, and feeling like a big old pile. Would you not run out to get a bucket of Haagen Daaz and put Titanic on repeat while you wallow in misery together?

What if your significant other came home after a really bad day and just felt like everything around them was crumbling to pieces. Would you not try to cheer them up the best way you know how?

{For the purposes of my argument, and because this is my house, I’ll assume you answered yes ;)}

If consoling is instinct, why am I expected to leave my own flesh and blood in a crib somewhere with the door closed and let her cry until her voice gets hoarse and she just… gives up?

“Because then you’re always holding her.”
“You won’t get anything done.”
“She’ll be spoiled.”

You can’t spoil someone with wanted affection. Unwanted: yes, but not wanted affection. It just doesn’t happen. Isn’t that ultimately what people want in life? To love and be loved? Even if you had everything money can buy, what’s the point of it all if there was no one to share it with? Being spoiled is when presents replace presence, not when you’re being cared for. Adults are able to say “no, I’m fine,” usually because of pride, embarrassment, or fear of inconveniencing the one consoling them. But we all know that “I’m fine” doesn’t mean that at all. “I’m fine” is code for I-would-appreciate-your-tightest-hug, please-hold-my-hand, or sit-with-me-and-make-me-smile. My kid hasn’t learned this lie yet.

I didn’t have a baby because of the glamorous hospital stay, the bloating, the stitches, or the really good parking spots. It definitely wasn’t for the 27 hour labour, the sleepless nights, or the fact that I was afraid to sit down for 3 weeks.

I had a baby to have a baby. To grow our family. To have someone Wyatt and I can share our lives with, and make happy memories. Right now, Sweet Pea wants me almost 24/7, and yes, she’s being held almost 24/7. But I know it won’t be that way forever. Eventually we’ll have our last breastfeeding session. Eventually she’ll sleep in her own bed, in her own room. She won’t want me to pick out her outfits because she’ll want to choose them herself, and she won’t let me kiss her in front of her friends because that won’t be cool anymore. She’ll move out, get married and maybe someday have babies of her own. I’ll see less and less of her as she builds her own life, and I’ll wish that I could have spent more time with her instead of those “things” that I needed to get done.

So the next time she cries for me, I’ll be there. I’ll bounce her, and rock her, and sway her, and hold her a just a little tighter in hopes that when it comes time to make that wish, it won’t be possible, because it would have already come true.