Dear Self-Proclaimed Sleep Specialist,
It comes as no surprise that you’ve taken it upon yourself to be the resident authority on sleep. Every group has that one parent who, armed with a few parenting books, believes they’re the ultimate expert on children’s sleep patterns. You know the type—the one who acts like they possess an honorary degree in breastfeeding, teething, or even discipline. The omniscient know-it-all.
While I appreciate your intent to help, your fervor about my child’s sleep habits is a bit unsettling. I perused your polished website, absorbing your suggestions and techniques. Your ebooks, online courses, and personalized coaching are certainly impressive. And let’s not overlook the endorsement from Dr. Phil—wow, your sleep strategies must be top-notch.
As I watched your instructional videos on YouTube, your relaxed demeanor and bright smile caught my attention. (By the way, your teeth are enviable.) However, I can’t help but wonder: Do you have kids? Because I’ve yet to meet a fellow parent of young children who looks as pristine as you do. Would it be too much to expect you to wear a t-shirt with a yogurt stain? I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, but I can’t shake the feeling that you might have a nanny. I’d really like to see that exhausted look in your eyes—the one that leads parents to seek refuge in the bathroom with a glass of wine.
I can overlook your flawless appearance, but what truly frustrates me is your tendency to project your personal parenting experiences onto every child as if they’re all the same. It’s infuriating. I’m generally not a hostile person, but your so-called wisdom makes me want to set the playground ablaze—after the children have left, of course.
You seem to enjoy answering questions, so here’s one for you: How do you resist the impulse to throw your child out the window during nap time? This thought crossed my mind at 3 a.m. when I was wide awake. I searched through your website, but it seems you don’t have any insights on that. And yet, you label yourself a sleep guru? Really?
Perhaps you think I have too much time on my hands for writing this letter. I’ll admit that sleep deprivation can do peculiar things to one’s mind. Just last night, I accidentally poured breast milk into my coffee. Lack of sleep puts me on edge, drains my patience, and makes me irritable, especially towards those who dispense parenting advice with such confidence.
Why doesn’t my child sleep well? I honestly don’t know. We’ve established a routine, darkened the room, and even invested in a white noise machine. In a moment of sheer frustration, I thought about tranquilizers for my son, but my partner quickly shot that idea down.
What’s that? You say I haven’t tried your revolutionary methods? Oh, I’ve considered them. But do you really think I have time for a sleep log? Between feeding the dog and paying bills, I barely have enough time to jot down my child’s sleep habits. Are you really suggesting I place a Bluetooth-enabled device under his mattress to monitor his night terrors? I don’t think so. And the idea that boosting my child’s self-esteem will magically improve his sleep? That’s a good one.
Let me share my own sleep solution with you: deep breathing. When the urge to toss my child out the window strikes, I take a long, deep breath. When I feel overwhelmed, I place him safely in his crib and step into another room. I give myself time to breathe, drink some water, eat a Hot Pocket, and calm down before making any decisions.
If I believe there’s a chance my child will drift back to sleep, I’ll keep trying. If not, I’ve found that late-night TV from the ’90s is quite engaging. Currently, my son and I are enjoying season two of The X-Files.
So, on behalf of all caffeine-fueled parents sporting dark circles under their eyes, I’ll pass on your sleep advice. Perhaps you could take a seat on the playground bench and relax a bit.
Sincerely,
A Sleep-Deprived Parent