It’s 12:30AM. The alarm on my watch vibrates silently, stirring me awake. The baby’s still sleeping. Who would have thought that angelic little creature could set off loud environment alerts on my Apple devices? My wife’s already been up with her twice since she went to sleep three hours ago. This is my only shot to give her a break.
I need to be quick! I open the fridge; its tiny light blinds me in the dark. I grab the bottle and throw it in the warmer. Then I pray. I need her not to wake up before that bottle is warm or we’re going to have a rough feeding session. I pace up and down, wishing for time to go faster and eyeing the timer as I spin on my heel for the next lap. So far, so good. The timer hits 30 seconds, my cue to get her out of the Snoo.
The SNOO is an insanely expensive smart bassinet we took a chance on, knowing it may not be successful in getting us more sleep - it certainly hasn’t.
I untangle her from the sleep sack as she groggily blinks at me, closing her eyes again as she snuggles into my arms. Success - she’s still asleep. She’s so cute. The warmer beeps in the kitchen, telling me her bottle is ready, and the moment of truth has arrived.
I grab the bottle and gently press it against her lips. She accepts it and sucks, but something is wrong. The milk is not the perfect temperature. This bottle is not Mama. Tonight, she only wants Mama. There is no warning besides a second of an upset face. We go from zero to one hundred instantly, leaving electric cars in the dust. The screaming pierces the silent night and reverberates off the walls. The dog doesn’t look up but lets out a giant sigh, keeping his eyes closed, trying to pretend this is not happening again. The shush train is immediately initiated.
The shush train is the most effective tool this dad has in his limited arsenal to soothe a screaming baby. It involves shushing, rocking, and bouncing on the balls of one’s feet.
Slowly but surely, the shush train works its magic and she goes back to sleep. It’s too late - the bedroom door creaks open, my wife is awake, and I’ve failed. Our one bedroom apartment is too small to house a peaceful sleep and an upset baby.
I slip the bottle between her lips again and this time she happily accepts it, guzzling down the warm milk as my brain tries to make sense of this late-night escapade and my failed attempt to make it quiet. The last drop gone, I lean her up, patting her back and rubbing in circles. She lets out a giant burp and I praise her profusely. Drunk on the milk she first thought was inferior I initiate the nappy change. She’s all smiles and coos, helpfully lifting her little legs to assist with the cleanup.
Ten more minutes of shush train later, she’s back in her bassinet, and I collapse into the bed with my wife. We’ll both be up within two hours for the next round.
