Zaky Attack

Two of the last three nights, I have been responsible for making sure Clara calls it a day and goes to sleep in her crib. On most nights, Katie does this, as she’s become the real pro with the bedtime routine. I, on the other hand, always introduce the possibility of falling asleep whilst holding the baby, which is precisely the opposite desired result of such an exercise. But we’ve had company over the last couple nights to see Katie, so I’ve gladly taken a shift or two, even if I’m not nearly as good.

It’s kind of like the end of an NFL season in this way. With one week left to go in the season, some 10 teams had already punched their tickets to the postseason and were locked into their respective seeds. In essence, they had nothing of importance to play for. Look at the Colts. The Patriots already have home-field etched in stone, and Indy is good enough to earn a first-round bye. San Diego couldn’t catch them in the standings. So what did they do? They rested their starters. Sure, Peyton Manning could have played the whole game in order to obliterate Tennessee (while making us all MasterCard holders in the process), but there were other options available to Coach Dungy. Similarly, Katie could have put Clara to bed while her houseguests waited patiently in the kitchen making small talk (my guess would be loosely-constructed parenting-football analogies). However, I could have lost their interest and they could have left before Katie even made it back downstairs. Instead, we played the back-up. Me. And while it wasn’t a Pro Bowl-caliber performance, I got Clara to drink her bottle and go to bed.

I’m the Jim Sorgi of parenting.

After much rocking, holding, swaying, moving, bouncing, swinging, and holding, I decided that the poor kid was ready to be put in her crib. As she winds down, she makes this grumbly humming noise that signifies that the end of the day in near. (humbly?) When that starts to wind down, she’s probably using her last few ounces of energy just to keep me from leaving the room. Putting down a baby without upsetting their newly calm state is an artform. It has to be one sweeping motion, and any hiccup in the flow will earn you another 10 minutes of pacing in a pastel-colored room. If you can pull it off, good for you.

You’ve probably been a parent for one more month than me.

My final move is to let baby settle while putting my hand on her back. That way, she knows I’m still here. It provides a sense of security and warmth, and my ability to move as she does gives her the impression that she’s still being held. But let me level with you.The hand on the back is tiring.I don’t know what it is about teetering over a cribrail that makes it feel like you just finished a hard track practice, but dear God. Seconds feel like minutes. Minutes feel like hours. Your extended arm is now purple as your circulatory system has now re-routed all blood to that one lonely appendage. If there was only a baby product that could be substituted in for you. Yeah!

This link will take you to a webpage promoting this very product. With a simple Raiders of the Lost Ark switch-out, you can be on your way downstairs while your baby thinks you are still hovering.

That is, if you don’t mind leaving her in the care of the severed hands of a Muppet.