The Baby Whisperer

I stepped out of the shower a couple of mornings ago, and I could hear him screaming. I didn't know if MTM was making him cry himself to sleep or if something worse was going on. After I got dressed and said my goodbyes to a Munchkin who should have been sleeping (but rarely seems to be when I'm heading to work), the light went on in his room: a sign that my presence was permitted (not permitted, but that it was OK for me to come in; sometimes I just leave it because MTM feels I get him wired up and he's less likely to fall back asleep).

He was writhing in her arms (technically he was in her arms, but he was struggling mightily to get out of them). I asked if I could take him, and with her acceptance of my offer I took him. He stopped crying and laid his head down on my shoulder, pressing his soft curls into my neck. I stroked his hair, kissed his cheek, and whispered, "Daddy's here. Everything's OK. Daddy's here."

He started murmuring like he does when he's falling asleep, so I stood up and rocked him near his crib. "Time for sleep," I said, and he gently pushed away and rolled in the direction of his crib; a sign that he's ready to be put back down. I laid down him gently, handed him Paddington and Iggle Piggle, covered him with a blanket and left.

He slept later than usual that morning.

*    *    *
"How long was he like that?" I asked that evening when I got home from work.

"Maybe 20 minutes; then I gave in and nursed him. He drank a bit, then started screaming again. We'd been at it for an hour total, I think."

"You should have called me sooner."

"But you need your sleep for work."

"But he falls asleep for me."

*    *    *
Yesterday morning, Munchkin was in bed with me when she startled me out of sleep with a big coughing fit (she was fine, it was just a big cough). As I sat up I heard Buddy crying as hard as he was the previous morning, so I started to his room.

I met MTM, who heard the coughing and feared the worst, in the hall. She went to tend to Munchkin and I pulled a sobbing Buddy from his crib.

Once again, he settled immediately, and once again, after a few minutes he was signalling that he was ready to go back to his crib and sleep.

"See?" I said to MTM as I came back to our room.

*    *    *
At this point, I figured Buddy was in the mood for a change. MTM does the nights because she's still breastfeeding him, so rather than both of us being sleep deprived, we opt for just her. Usually he gets like that in the early morning hours, after a long night with MTM, so my theory was I was "something different".

I mean, she was his only source of nourishment and comfort (he never really took to a pacifier) for months, and he's more affectionate with her. It makes sense that he's more comfortable with her, doesn't it?

*    *    *
Last night, while we were downstairs watching a DVD (Eragon, which, despite its obvious use of the epic hero motif and the clear influence of Star Wars Episode IV, is an enjoyable film), Buddy started crying. After a few minutes without settling, MTM said she'd go get him and bring him down.

I heard him continue to scream through the monitor after she picked him up.

"Daddy will be here soon," she said softly.

I waited, figuring she meant he would see me soon (as in, when she brought him downstairs).

"Daddy's coming, Buddy."

Still, I waited.

"I'm sure Daddy will climb the stairs any minute," she said, tersely. Turns out he was so aggressive that she couldn't carry him down the stairs safely.

Whoops. Guess I should have taken the first hint.

Once more I took my boy into my arms, and once more he quieted down and rested his head on my shoulder immediately. I held him a few minutes longer than I needed to, before putting him back in his crib and rejoining MTM downstairs.

*    *    *
I realized as I came downstairs that it wasn't as simple as Buddy being "bored" of MTM, that my uncanny ability to settle him from a state where MTM cannot even carry him and has to resort to sitting or lying down with him is the product of something more. Call it a connection, call it a bond (call it a yearning for more time with an often absent working father - but not to my face, at least not right now; I'm enjoying the alternatives too much), call it whatever you want.

I might not be his favourite, and I might not be the one he's bonded to, but I'm his Daddy, and he's my boy, and that's good enough for me.