Rock a Baby

Nobody told me this when I was a glowing kallah posing near the flowers my chassan sent. And not only was I not forewarned; becoming a mother was so all-consuming and energy-sapping, I didn’t have a moment to ponder this new reality.

I was a 20-year-old mother of a gorgeous and fussy little baby girl. Babies are meant to be demanding, and she fulfilled her job to a T.

She cried a lot, wanted to be held, and eschewed the pacifier in favor of me. And that’s where I was stumped. I just didn’t know how to get the baby to sleep. In the hospital I’d learned that newborns need to sleep 18 hours a day. My baby slept eight hours at night, with generous breaks, so she had to clock at least another ten hours during the day.

The solution became rocking her to sleep. We learned the rhythm together: back and forth, abruptly but not too abruptly, slow and steady, but not too slowly. Finally, she’d fall asleep. I’d note the time. Ten hours, baby. Other than getting up for feedings, you ought to be in la-la land until you reach the 18-hour mark.