Rough Nights in Sleepytown
Baby Dog’s Bedtime has been a screamy affair of late, possibly attributable to a new tooth announcing its début. Last night there was a monumental screamathon, unanswerable by standard protocols. Shushing didn’t work, rocking didn’t work, nothing worked. I think the situation was exacerbated by the fact that she had already been vocally cranky long before bedtime. Even Baby Dog’s constant confidante Hermione Hippo was summarily rejected. Clearly she was tired; she would rub her eyes and loll for a second, but just as I thought maybe she was settling down, she would arch her back, thrash about, and resume red-faced screaming. There’s no shushing a baby who’s screaming louder than you can shush. There’s no rocking a baby who won’t stay still. Finally, Mama Dog prescribed aspirin and boob, which proved to be the magic combination. Baby Dog fell into besotted and narcotised slumber.
Tonight threatened to be more of the same, but this time we headed it off early enough to make a difference. Mama Dog nursed, but screaming resumed when she set Baby Dog down in the crib. I took over, rocking and shushing. Just like last night, she twisted and screamed and seemed insensible to soothing. Fearing a repeat performance and knowing I’d be at wit’s end with a front row seat, I hit on a surprisingly successful tactic. I whistled. Specifically, I whistled the melodic intro to Billy Joel’s The Stranger. It was truly an inspiration. Baby Dog has heard lots of singing but not much in the way of whistling. The sound was a novelty, and it stopped her in her screaming. It didn’t shut the fit down completely, but it broke the momentum. She took longer and longer pauses between screams, to the point where she could hear the shushing, sense the rocking, and feel me stroking her back. Before long, she was lying quietly with her head on my shoulder, toying with the sleeve of my t-shirt. Within five minutes she was sound asleep, and the weekend could finally begin.
Tonight threatened to be more of the same, but this time we headed it off early enough to make a difference. Mama Dog nursed, but screaming resumed when she set Baby Dog down in the crib. I took over, rocking and shushing. Just like last night, she twisted and screamed and seemed insensible to soothing. Fearing a repeat performance and knowing I’d be at wit’s end with a front row seat, I hit on a surprisingly successful tactic. I whistled. Specifically, I whistled the melodic intro to Billy Joel’s The Stranger. It was truly an inspiration. Baby Dog has heard lots of singing but not much in the way of whistling. The sound was a novelty, and it stopped her in her screaming. It didn’t shut the fit down completely, but it broke the momentum. She took longer and longer pauses between screams, to the point where she could hear the shushing, sense the rocking, and feel me stroking her back. Before long, she was lying quietly with her head on my shoulder, toying with the sleeve of my t-shirt. Within five minutes she was sound asleep, and the weekend could finally begin.
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 10:01 PM
4 Comments:
Try some whiskey. That should shut her up.
Pickle Whistler - Try losing your virginity. That should make you a happier pimply teenaged asshole.
Thanks for the advice,,, i'll give it a shot.
What is this, some kind of advice column now?? I don't want any competition!
For the record, I recommend whiskey AND losing one's virginity, just well before baby-raising.
Your pal,
Dan Savage
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