Dear Self-Proclaimed Nap Specialist,
I’m not shocked that you’ve taken it upon yourself to become the resident sleep guru. It seems like there’s always one parent in every group who reads a few parenting books and suddenly believes they’re an expert on children’s slumber. You know the type—the one who acts like they have a doctorate in breastfeeding, teething, or discipline. The ultimate know-it-all.
While I appreciate your enthusiasm to help, your fixation on my child’s sleep patterns is a tad peculiar. I took a peek at your polished website, scrolled through your tips, strategies, and even your coaching services. And let’s not forget your endorsement from Dr. Phil—impressive! Your sleep skills must be off the charts.
As I watched your YouTube tutorials, I couldn’t help but notice how relaxed and vibrant you seem. (And, by the way, your smile is dazzling!) But I have to wonder—do you even have kids? Because I don’t know any parent of little ones who looks as put-together as you do. Wouldn’t it be more relatable if you sported a faded college tee with a blueberry yogurt stain? I’ll take your word for it, but I can’t help but suspect you might have a nanny. I’d like to see a bit of that frantic, sleep-deprived look—the one that drives parents to sneak off to the bathroom with a glass of wine.
I can overlook your seemingly perfect appearance, but what truly irks me is your insistence that your parenting experiences are universal. It makes me want to launch laser beams from my eyes. I’m not usually hostile, but your self-assuredness has me wanting to set the playground ablaze—don’t worry, I’d clear it of kids first!
I see you love answering questions, so I have one for you: How do you keep yourself from tossing your child out the window during those endless naptimes? That thought crossed my mind at 3 a.m. last night. I checked your site, but it seems you don’t have any wisdom on this. And you call yourself a sleep expert? Really?
You might think I’m wasting my time writing this, but let me tell you, sleep deprivation does strange things to a person. Just last night, I accidentally poured breast milk into my coffee. Lack of sleep can push anyone to the edge, and it makes me a bit snappy, especially towards those who deliver parenting advice with such confidence.
Why doesn’t my child sleep well? Honestly, I have no clue. We’ve set up a routine, darkened the room, and even bought a white noise machine. In a moment of frustration, I thought about giving my son a tranquilizer, but my partner quickly put the kibosh on that.
What’s that? You say I haven’t tried your special methods? I have thought about it. But do you really think I have the time to keep a sleep log? I can hardly find a moment to feed the dog and pay the electric bill, let alone track my child’s sleep habits. You expect me to put a Bluetooth device under his mattress and sync it with my phone to monitor his night terrors? That’s not happening. And seriously, do you think boosting my child’s self-esteem will help him sleep better? Thanks for the chuckle.
Here’s my sleep solution: deep breathing. When I feel the urge to toss my child out the window, I take a deep breath. When I’m at my breaking point, I safely place him in his crib and step into another room. I don’t return until I’ve taken several deep breaths. I don’t care if he’s crying. I breathe in and out, drink some water, maybe grab a Hot Pocket, and wait until I can think clearly.
If I think there’s a chance he’ll go back to sleep, I try again. If not, I simply move on. Late-night TV is a great distraction. My son and I are currently enjoying the second season of The X-Files.
So, on behalf of all the caffeine-fueled parents with dark circles under their eyes, I’ll pass on your sleep advice and suggest you take a breather on the playground bench.
Sincerely,
A Sleep-Deprived Dad