They Said

"Oh, no, Ouch! Oh, no, Ouch!" squeaks the La-Z-Boy as I rock Carmen to sleep. When she is limp and peaceful, I set her down to work on David. The naptime routine is always the same. Feed, rock, then sleep.

"Just put them to sleep," they said.

Some days the concept of putting the babies sleep goes the way of the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. We want to believe, but really, I suspect it's nothing but a well-fabricated lie designed to make parents feel like they are doing something useful.

As I begin to rock David he complains, pushing himself away from my body and furrowing his brow. He doesn't want to sleep. I hold him tight and cuddle his warm, huggable body. Minutes later Carmen is awake, and Matt takes her to the glider.

"Use a glider," they said. "Puts them right to sleep."

Matt hugs Carmen to his chest and starts patting her back. Carmen stares at the window until her eyes slowly flutter closed. Realizing she has nearly been lulled to sleep, her eyes blink open, wide. She sits up and looks up to make eye contact with Matt . . . and laughs. And laughs again. Now two giggly, hopelessly sleep-deprived sillies, Carmen and Matt retreat to another room.


Two sleep-deprived sillies on the path to exhaustion.

I still rock with David, who by this point has burrowed into the crook of my arm and is flopping and squirming like a fish out of water.

"Use the swing," they said. "Works every time."

I put David in the swing. I turn on the mobile and he wrinkles his nose and smiles. I make myself busy and listen to his concert of raspberries, spit bubbles, and squeaks. Half an hour later . . .


Howdy, mama! Why you lookin' so tired?

well, you get the idea.


From Friday: Carmen kicking her legs like the girl in the swing at the Old San Francisco Steakhouse.