Today a friend of mine tweeted me with a link to YouTube – it was a short film from Philips Avent about the special tricks mums have for getting their grumbling babies to sleep. Take a look, it's rather sweet. I especially like the infant who passes out the instant she hears the ping of a microwave.
Anyway, it made me think back to when my first daughter Ava was a baby. Like every new mother, I was feeling my way in the dark, pretty much doing it all wrong. Like a Tracy Hogg case study, I fed her to sleep during the day, let her stay awake for too long until she became overtired and inconsolable, and in the evening, when she seemed to ping into action at 6pm, I used to think it was cute she'd be awake to see her dad when he got home.
I accidentally parented her 'til the cows came home and, oh wowsers, what a rod for my back I was making! When Ava was teeny weeny, I noticed the hoover could send her into a trance-like state – and that had its useful moments. But by the time I realised I had utterly failed to give her a proper bed time, and teach her how to fall asleep by herself of an evening (and stay asleep), she had become immune to the Dyson (much like I have become allergic to it in the years since!).
So, we tried everything. I began reading parenting books. Dan and I would sit for (literally) hours in the dark, with a hand on her tummy. We tried controlled crying. We played her a track on the iPod of what a beating heart sounds like from inside the womb (I'm pretty sure my own heart never beat that slowly though, which is perhaps why it didn't work. It sounded like someone about to cark it). We'd usually succumb and pick her up or rock her to sleep – just so we could eat a meal and fit in a couple of hours kip ourselves. Every night was torturous.
Well, just as the mamas in the film eventually found their magic trick, so did we. It happened one day, quite by accident, when we had the iPod on shuffle and it settled on a very bizarre track that had an even more bizarre affect on Ava. She went floppy, glazed over, and fell asleep.
And that was that. Played quietly in her room, this was the aid that finally got our little monster to settle herself at night.
It'd be sweet if, now that she is three, I could play it to her again, just every now then. I'd be able to say: “Listen Ava! Do you remember? This is the music mummy used to play to you when you were tiny. I’d put it on, and you'd close your eyes and drift into a deeeeep sleep.”
And then Ava would say: “Really mummy? What is the song…?”
And, er... actually no, it won't happen. Because not only would I have to tell Ava that the song is called Bright Tomorrow and is by a band called the Fuck Buttons, I would also have to see her face as she actually listened to it. I think it would probably make her cry. I mean, it starts off alright, but when it gets to around 3 mins 57 seconds, wow, it REALLY kicks into… well, have a listen. And then try to imagine it lulling a baby into sleep.
The point of this story? Babies are weird. FACT.
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