How to Get Babies to Sleep Through the Night (& Why It’s Not So Bad for Dads)

We’ve all been there: It’s 2 a.m. You’re comfortably asleep. You’re dreaming about playing SS for your favorite baseball team and hitting a home run to win Game 7 (which leads to a big kiss from Saved By The Bell’s Kelly Kapowski who, in your dream, is not only your wife, but is also wearing a dress made only of bacon). Things are looking up as the commissioner hands you the World Series MVP trophy. Finally, a soft voice whispers in your ear: 

“Wake up. The baby is crying. It’s your turn to go rock her back to sleep.”

Goodbye bacon-dressed Kelly Kapowski. I will miss you.

Our youngest daughter, who clocks in at a lovely 10 months and is nursing, still feels the urge to catch a bite to eat around bar-closing time. She wakes up, cries out gently and waits not-so-patiently for my wife to go into her room and feed her. This often happens around 5 a.m. too¹. It’s a baby routine most parents experience. 

Now before some bozo reading this says “Why don’t you get up with her?” and I have to respond “Because I don’t have boobs!” and that same bozo says “Are you sure? I’ve seen you in a swimsuit,” I think it’s fair to note that I always get up with all our kids during non-feeding situations—to rock them back to sleep, to help them in the bathroom, to rescue their baby dolls who suicide jump off the bed. 

At some point, though, that routine starts to drag on the family and it’s time to help your baby sleep through the night. Mom’s not cut out for this challenge, mainly because for the past so many months she’s been like a drug dealer to your baby. If a Mom’s boob is within a 50-mile radius, her baby will sniff her out and scream, scream, scream until she’s nuzzled up against it. Most men, who also can sniff out a close boob, employ a similar tactic when inside the boob-radius. That’s why Dad is called in to save the day. It’s a hard job, but we’re built to break our beautiful babe from the late-night munchies. We’re tough and strong willed. We’re firm, yet fair. We’re also very, very handsome. 

This is my third time going through this process and, I have to admit, breaking your child from eating in the middle of the night feels eerily similar to studying for a college midterm. You experience a range of emotions that include panic, duress and fear. You plan for an all-nighter by chugging 11 gallons of coffee and a 12-pack of Mt. Dew. You cram in as much information as you can from the baby instructional books that you’ve been ignoring for months. You even try to bribe your way out of things: “Listen, I’ve been trying really hard ever since you were born and if effort mattered I’d get an A+ (unless your Mom is ruining the curve), but since it’s not a factor how about this: If you sleep all through the night I will not try to murder the first boy who asks for your phone number².” 

But no matter what you do, how much you prepare, you’ll find that the answer to this one-question midterm comes in the form of a poem (who knew?), and it goes something like this:

Hey, you’re not my Mom?
Cry.
Pat, pat, pat.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Hey, you’re not my Mom?
Cry.
Pat, pat, pat.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Hey, you’re not my Mom?
And so on. 

It may take one day, it may take 20 days. It may take stanza after stanza after stanza. Who knows; every kid is different. But the one thing I do know is that for one brief (albeit tiresome) cast of days, that baby has no one to depend on but you—and it’s an amazing feeling. It’s one of the few moments in your life where everything is cured by cuddling. And in 15 or so years, when she’s clamoring for your credit card and the keys to your car, you can think back to those nights--where her only demand was a cuddle—and smile. 

You’ll like it even better than winning the World Series MVP trophy.

¹ To those without kids I’m here to confirm that there is, in fact, a 5 a.m. I’ve seen it. And it’s not pretty.
² I will just cancel our phone number. (And maybe still poison him a little to let you know that I care.) 

*****
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Dad for President (of the House)

Courtesy of Adam Pace @ loft3pd.com

Today I am announcing my candidacy for President of our House. Over the past few years it's become abundantly apparent to me that there is technically no President of our house. This gave me pause: Without an appointed leader decided by the democratic process, how will the kids of Klems Manor know who to complain to about having to eat their broccoli? That's where a President of the House comes in—the President can tell them exactly who to complain to (Mom).

My wife has also decided to become a candidate because, chiefly, I'm making her. She's also scared of my potential rules, which include "Lingerie Mondays," "Lingerie Tuesdays," "Lingerie Wednesdays," "Bacon Thursdays" and "Lingerie Fridays."  On weekends, lingerie would be optional (must be married to the president to participate). 

Why do I want to be President of our House? Because I want to help build a better future for my children (and, also, my Twitter bio has become a little stale and could use some new accolades). In order to give our voters (my kids) a fair, unbiased and objective look at me as a candidate, I've created my first campaign commercial. It is meant to inform and state my positions on most hot button issues around our house. Forgive me for the low video quality—my wife and I have agreed not to accept any money from big business to finance our campaigns.

Good luck to my opponent. I wish her well. I also suggest she stocks up on lingerie. And bacon.

*****
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* Also, follow me on Twitter @BrianKlems. I promise to occasionally say funny things.