18 Days of Resolve

Michael has been very clear to set the standard that if at all possible, we should not be giving Oliver a pacifier. It would only cause problems later when we try to get him to settle down without it.

So you can imagine my surprise when I walked over to Ollie, all tucked in his swing, and found three things. Two of them were rattles. Which I found to be pretty funny; the idea that he would suddenly have the dexterity, fine motor skills and interest to reach out to grab and shake the things seemed just as likely as the possibility that he would lead a congo line with them. And then I saw it. A small, innocent-looking little nuk, nestled among the receiving blankets.

There were two adults in our house at the time, and one of them was me. I looked over to Michael, who shrunk down in his spot on the sofa. "You are so busted," I said.

It turns out that Oliver is indeed a nuk baby. He lasts a mere minute in his swing before loudly requesting a pick-up...give him a nuk, and he's asleep in swinging dreamland.

I can hardly blame Michael for his short-lived resolve, considering that I had broken the cardinal rule of bedtime last night. A really, really big rule. Mr. Oliver had gas that woke him up every 15 minutes or so, requiring one of us to jump out of bed and calm him back to sleep. Eventually, I suggested to Michael that he just bring Ollie to me. It would be easier to calm him when snuggling next to me versus getting up and down for the next hour. So at 1:30 am, he was placed in my arms. And I fell asleep.

I have given many a cautionary word to the parents of my patients about the dangers of co-bedding. And I stand by my resolve. But last night I was just so....tired. Before I became a mother, one thing I didn't understand about the enticement of co-bedding was that holding a warm, sweet-smelling little human, whose tender little lips breathe into your neck, can put you in a near-coma. And to my defense, I had him positioned away from any pillows, in the middle of the bed, and resting on the inside of my arm. He wasn't going anywhere, and because of incessant incisional pain that likes to worsen a bit at night, neither was I. I plant myself in bed and I wake up in the same position I was in a few hours earlier.

I suppose it's good to have resolve, or at least a smattering of goals and good intentions. We'll probably continue to say that there are things we'll never do. And we'll believe ourselves, at least for a little while.