Jinx?!

There are countless uncertainties that keep mothers up at night: Is my baby eating enough? Why hasn’t she pooped at ALL in the last 10 days? Will I EVER write another word once she stops napping? In general, I try to minimize the amount of time I cruise the Internet foraging for answers. (Who hasn’t killed two hours looking for reassurance that baby’s voluminous, goopy spit up is normal, only to unearth mention of some dreaded digestive problem that may require surgery? It’s just not worth it.) I’ve figured out that the more freaked out and desperate I am for someone to tell me EXACTLY WHAT TO DO, the more I know I need to stop looking for answers outside of myself and turn inward to tap the bottomless black hole of my own intuition. As Karen Maezen Miller says in her brilliantly encouraging book, Momma Zen: “I’ll know everything I need to know when I need to know it.”

Still, there’s one burning question I have yet to answer: Does blabbing about a baby’s progress jinx said progress? Maybe it’s a show-off’s karmic payback, but it seems that every time I open my mouth to describe some small accomplishment—even in the most modest and understated of terms—the kid almost immediately proves me wrong. “Oh yes, she’s sleeping through the night,” I fairly screamed to anyone who would listen when P. was still a one-month-old in swaddles. What I did not know was this: Just because she was sleeping seven hours straight at the time did not mean she would sleep seven hours straight forever, or even through the month. Sure enough, my prideful boasting came back to bite me in the butt—a pattern that has haunted me for most of motherhood.

Anecdotally, at least, the baby jinx is a real and fearsome phenomena, but is there any way to prove, once and for all, that it actually exists? I’ve been avoiding updating my previous posts about Ferberizing for just this reason. Open my mouth and six-month-old baby M. is sure to be up half the night wailing. Hmmm. There’s only one way to find out:

So herewith, in matter-of-fact, scientific, strictly quantifiable terms, with zero self-congratulatory back-patting (the truth is, Steve’s being doing ALL the work) is M.’s sleep training to date, by the numbers:

2 hours: total amount of time M cried on night 1

10 minutes: total amount of time M cried on night 2

1: number of times Steve had to jam M's pacifier in her mouth before she went back to sleep on night #3

30 seconds: total amount of time M cried on night #4

0: total number of times I’ve fed M during the night during last 4 nights

0: total number of times I've gotten out of bed to Ferberize M during the last 4 nights (luv ya, Steve)

10: total number of minutes she cried this evening after being weaned of her double swaddle

20: total number of fingers and toes crossed that she does not make me eat my words tonight

Will I wake up tomorrow cursing my big fat mouth? Here’s hoping not….

Now on to more scintillating topics….