Though I hesitate to label myself as a particular type of parent—believing that the intricacies of parenting defy such neat categorizations—an observer might classify me as an adherent of attachment parenting principles.
As a researcher at heart—perhaps to a fault—I often find myself diving deep into the world of online information whenever curiosity strikes. During my pregnancy, I was fortunate—or perhaps a bit unfortunate—that I had limited real-life distractions, allowing me ample time to explore what parenthood would entail as I transitioned from being a childless adult to a new parent.
With my first child, I was stepping into uncharted territory. My lack of experience with infants, having never nannied or spent significant time with friends’ babies, left me feeling quite unprepared. As I immersed myself in parenting podcasts, online forums, and media outlets, I quickly discovered that numerous decisions lay ahead. Topics like breastfeeding, vaccinations, and sleep training were hotly debated, revealing how polarizing opinions could be. What one individual deemed an unthinkable choice, another considered a logical option.
For someone who thrives on concrete answers, this plethora of conflicting advice was exasperating. How was I to determine if my baby should adhere to specific wake times when half the internet warned me that exceeding a mere ninety minutes would lead to disaster, while the other half suggested that I simply follow my baby’s cues? It felt like every time I dug deep into a topic, I emerged with the same conclusion: “I don’t know.” Lacking strong feelings about any particular parenting style, I decided to embrace a go-with-the-flow approach—meeting my baby, once he arrived, and allowing him to guide me.
However, one area where I reached a firm decision was sleep training. After considerable thought, I concluded that it wasn’t for me. I respect those who do choose that route; I simply lacked the resolve to endure what could be hours of crying.
In the first six months of my son’s life, he was rocked to sleep by either me or my partner. If he showed signs of drowsiness but didn’t drift off naturally, I’d take him to his room and rock him to sleep. This process sometimes required me to pace around the house in a rhythm that mimicked a bumpy ride, which seemed to soothe him.
Although the sleep routine could be quick, there were times it took much longer—especially if he was over-stimulated or agitated. On one particular evening, I found myself in a pickle while getting him ready for bed; I couldn’t locate his binky. With him already in his sleep suit and the room dimmed, I hesitated to disrupt his environment. Thinking I’d set him down for a moment while I searched, I laid him in his crib. To my surprise, he cried. I’d estimate I took about five to ten minutes to find the binky, and when I returned, he had already fallen asleep.
This was a revelation for me. While he had indeed cried himself to sleep, I realized he had always done so in my arms. My son rarely cries, and I consider myself fortunate that his cries typically signal tiredness. I had been so focused on calming him that I hadn’t recognized he often cried during the process of falling asleep. Leaving him alone for a few moments revealed something profound: he could actually settle himself more quickly without my constant rocking.
This experience inspired me to experiment. I resolved to let him learn to fall asleep on his own, even if it meant allowing some crying. I established limits for myself regarding how long I’d let him cry and when I’d intervene based on the intensity of his cries.
Over the following days, I noticed that when I placed him in his crib, he typically cried for about 10-15 minutes before drifting off. Not only was he falling asleep faster, but he also cried less without the rocking. Interestingly, when I tried to intervene during his longer cries, my presence seemed to agitate him further, amplifying his cries and pushing sleep further away.
I want to clarify that my intention in sharing this isn’t to advocate for or against sleep training. I see it simply as one of the many choices parents must navigate, ultimately making decisions that feel right for their circumstances. Initially, I had opted to rock my baby to sleep based on information I gathered online. What I learned through this journey is that the internet doesn’t know my baby. I needed to attune myself to his unique cues and needs. Listening to my instincts and observing my son showed me what he truly required—insights that the internet could never provide.
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In summary, parenting is a journey filled with decisions and discoveries, many of which may contradict popular advice. Every child is unique, and understanding their individual needs is essential. While research is valuable, sometimes the best teacher is the child themselves.
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