letting babies cry…

As referenced in my previous post, following is the Wall Street Journal article that prompted me to put fingers to keys on my laptop.

A smiling baby lying in a soft cot (furniture).

A smiling baby lying in a soft cot (furniture). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Letting Babies Cry a Bit Is OK
by Andrea Petersen

   Letting babies cry for short periods of time while teaching them to sleep by themselves doesn’t cause long-term psychological problems or damage the parent-child relationship, says a study being published Monday in the journal Pediatrics.

   The study, which followed children until they were 6 years old, will likely add fuel to an emotional debate that rages on playgrounds, on Facebook and within marriages: whether or not exhausted parents should “sleep train” their babies.

   The behavioral techniques used in the study didn’t include the most controversial method, known as extinction, or “cry it out,” in which parents put the baby to bed, close the door and don’t open it until morning, no matter how long and vociferously the baby sobs. While effective, cry it out “is very distressing to parents,” said Anna Price, the lead author of the study and a postdoctoral research fellow at the Centre for Community Child Health, the Royal Children’s Hospital in Parkville, Australia. “It is hard to do. We don’t recommend it.”

   Instead, the study used two somewhat gentler approaches. In “controlled comforting,” parents return to the room of a crying baby at regular intervals to offer some limited soothing. (Parents often refer to this as a version of cry it out.) It is the technique known colloquially as “Ferberizing,” after Richard Ferber, the doctor who popularized it.

   In “camping out,” parents start by sitting in a chair next to the baby’s bed and slowly–over several weeks–move the chair until they are out of the room and the baby is falling asleep alone.

   But some critics, including proponents of “attachment parenting”–which also advocates parents and baby sleeping in the same bed–assert that the Ferber method, too, weakens the bond between parent and child and can lead to behavioral and emotional problems later on.

   On the other side, some advocates of sleep training have also said teaching children to go to sleep on their own is critical to helping prevent later sleep problems. But this study found no significant long-term benefits of the behavioral techniques. About 9% of children in both the intervention and the control group had sleep problems at age 6.

   Earlier data from this study, and other research, have shown that the behavioral techniques do work and have clear short-term benefits: Babies go to sleep more quickly at bedtime and wake up less during the night. And infant sleep problems can lead to a whole host of family issues: They double the risk of depression symptoms in mothers and can fuel marital problems.

   “In the short-term, the infants and parents get more sleep,” said Judith A. Owens, the director of sleep medicine at Children’s National Medical Center in Washington, D.C. “A well-rested parent is going to be a better parent in the daytime.”

   The study followed 326 Australian children whose parents reported sleep problems when they were 7 months old. When the babies were between 8 and 10 months old, the parents of 173 children were taught the behavioral techniques during their regularly scheduled checkups. The rest weren’t offered the training.

   When the children were 6 years old, researchers administered various tests to assess emotional health, behavior, sleep issues and the quality of the parent-child relationship.

   Researchers found almost no difference on any of the measures between the children who had the sleep training as infants and those who didn’t.

…be sure to read my take on the debate…in my previous post…

………hugmamma.

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life…death…life

Just returned from visiting blogger friend, Jeanne, at http://nolagirlatheart.wordpress.com/. I came away with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat after reading her most recent post, Lucy’s Light…A Mother’s Story. After viewing the youtube video, I remembered a story that also tugged at my heart.

Suncadia - Destination Hotels & Resorts

On a recent getaway to Suncadia Resort in Eastern Washington, I luxuriated in having a manicure/pedicure. Not something I normally have done, but when offered for free, I find very difficult to reject. And as it turned out, I’m glad I did because it meant money in the pocket of a very deserving young woman.

Because I’m inclined to chat with everyone as though they were long, lost friends, the manicurist and I “hit the ground running.” I told her my life story…and she told me hers. In a nutshell, of course. We were only together an hour.

I learned that my new friend has 2 young sons. Her husband is a high school baseball coach. During the summer months he helps coach local youth groups. Because it takes up so much of his time, he’s planning to cut back so he can spend more time with his own boys. But given the current economy, he’s planning to return to school to become  a teacher. With family and friends living nearby, the children have ready-made babysitters when their parents are at work.

Bill and Melinda Gates during their visit to t...

Bill and Melinda Gates during their visit to the Oslo Opera House in June 2009. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As if I didn’t already wish I was Melinda Gates who doles out megabucks to families in need, the end of the manicurist‘s story humbled me further.

Speaking softly, as if lost in her own reverie, my friend recounted how she had been pregnant with a girl. The family anticipated her arrival with unimaginable joy. A joy that wasn’t to last. 

The umbilical cord had wrapped around the baby’s neck, causing her to die. To compound their sorrow, the baby had to be delivered at full term. No shortcuts allowed.

If I remember correctly, having a Caesarian would’ve proved fatal for the mother. 

There is a happily-ever-after to the story, however. When I met my friend, she had just returned from an 8-week maternity leave. The family is now complete…with a girl. The baby’s middle name is that of her sister…had she lived. 

Tears streamed down my cheeks, co-mingling with the water in which my fingers were soaking. I wanted to reach for Mrs. Gates’ checkbook…   😦

Umbilical cord

Umbilical cord (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This story made me reflect back to my own daughter’s birth. She too had been in distress because the umbilical cord had wrapped itself around her neck.

At the time, heavily into labor, I’m sure I wasn’t thinking I’d lose my baby. That was probably the furthest thing from my mind. I’m certain I assumed the doctor would correct the problem, even if he had to perform a miracle. Doctors do that, don’t they?

At 36-years-old, death was not something I contemplated. Ask me now…that I’m going to be 63.

Funny thing…the manicurist and my daughter share the same name.

And now back to Lucy’s Light…A Mother’s Story, You might want to view it on Youtube as narrated by her mom Monica. And be prepared to tear up. By the way…she’s a friend of Jeanne’s, my blogger friend who got me thinking about…

…life…death…life…

 ………hugmamma.

tv genie…real life mom

Have just finished reading Barbara Eden‘s autobiography. Remember her as the genie in the bottle in “I Dream of Jeannie?” A favorite sitcom of mine at the time it aired in the mid-60s, I’m sure she was the fantasy of every young girl who wanted to be like Jeannie, and every man, young and old, who wanted to be her master, aka Captain Tony Nelson. Because I looked nothing like Barbara Eden, blonde, blue-eyed, I don’t think I was as fixated on her as I was on her cute leading man, Larry Hagman. I probably tuned in as often as I could to drool over his good looks. I thought the show was funny, although I liked it a lot better when Tony finally stopped running away from Jeannie’s advances. They made a cute, TV couple; I thought they’d make a great pair in real life too. But I guess I was wrong.

It’s obvious that Eden admired Hagman’s acting, and shared a lasting friendship with him, but according to her, he was like the Tasmanian devil…hell on wheels!

On one unforgettable occasion, when Larry didn’t like a particular script, his answer was to throw up all over the set. Nerves? Method acting? I didn’t stick around long enough to find out, but took refuge in the sanctuary of my dressing room instead.

In many ways, Larry was like a very talented, troubled child whose tantrums sometimes got the better of his self-control. The crew, however, quickly lost patience with him and vented their frustration by cutting him dead as often as possible and tormenting him however and whenever they could. Once when Larry demanded a cup of tea (as opposed to his habitual champagne), the crew, exasperated by his high-handedness and demands that a scene be reshot because he didn’t like that particular segment of the script, put salt in his tea instead of sugar.

When the unsuspecting Larry took a sip and spat the tea out in disgust, the entire set rocked with suppressed laughter from the delighted crew, who probably would have applauded if they could have, they so enjoyed humiliating poor Larry.

In real life, Eden was happily married to fellow actor Michael Ansara. Of Lebanese descent, he was two when his parents moved the family to America. She raved of him…

As far as I–and thousands of fans and love-struck female fans throughout the world–was concerned, Michael Ansara was a magnificent specimen of alpha-male masculinity. Six foot four and darkly handsome, with blazing brown eyes, a deep, resonant voice, and a powerful aura of strength and dependability, Michael was a Hollywood heart-throb with sex appeal to burn.

I think we get the picture. If Ansara had portrayed a genie competing with Tony Nelson for Jeannie’s hand on the TV sitcom, I wonder if Eden could’ve refrained from revealing to the audience which of her two suitors really had her in the palm of his hands?

I’m sure you’ve surmised that Eden and Ansara tied the knot. Seven-and-a-half years after marrying they were delighted to welcome son Matthew, a month before the premiere of “I Dream of Jeannie.”  ... with husband Michael Ansara and son Matthew - i-dream-of-jeannie photoBecause her career climbed while her husband’s nose-dived, Eden became the family breadwinner. For the most part the arrangement seemed to work just fine, for as she explained at the conclusion of her book…

The wonderful thing about my business and about my life is that I never know what’s around the corner. I’m very lucky to like what I do and to be able to work at it so happily and for so long. I’ve always considered my career to be a great joy and a great gift. I love it, and long may it continue.

But her career took its toll on her marriage, her son, and another baby boy as yet unborn. It was this chain of events that convinced me to share Eden’s story with you, which I’d intended to do yesterday, Mother’s Day. What she endured is a tragic example of a wife and mother who tries to do everything, to be everything to all people.

… Ten years into our marriage, I gave an achingly honest interview to a newspaper journalist about the problems Michael and I encountered in our marriage.

“My husband, Michael,” I said, “is becoming more and more annoyed watching me go to work every day while he sits home. He hates the thought of it. I don’t blame him. There isn’t a man around who enjoys the feeling that his wife is the breadwinner and brings home the bacon. I know it’s uncomfortable for Michael. What are we going to do about it? I wish I knew…All I’m sure of is that Michael would give anything to see our positions reversed.” …

Difficult or not, Michael and I had no plans to end our marriage, and we still loved each other as much as we ever had. Then in 1971, to our delight, I became pregnant with our second child.

Even their son Matthew was excited at the prospect of a baby brother. Good fortune seemed to bless her with more good news when she was offered the opportunity to tour America for 10 weeks in not one, but two musicals, “The Unsinkable Molly Brown,” and “The Sound of Music.” She signed on against her better judgment, for she was in her late thirties and was already feeling the effects of already having acted, sung, and danced “nonstop all over the country for so many years.” For once in her life she was “overcome by a burning desire to refuse not just one job but two.”

But Michael was not working, and if I didn’t take this opportunity, our family would go hungry. Although I knew in my heart that this wasn’t the case, against my better judgment, I agreed to star in both musicals and tour the country right up until I was eight months pregnant.

She took precautions, checking in with doctors wherever she toured, who were recommended by her L.A. physician. But upon finally returning home and being examined by her own doctor, she learned what no mother wants to hear.

My baby was dead. His umbilical cord had been crushed, and there was nothing anyone could do to save him. I say him, because the doctor told me that my unborn baby was a boy. The doctor also told me that in all his many years of practice, he had never encountered a case like mine.

Worse yet, Eden says…

I only knew that I had to carry my dead baby inside of me for six more weeks, because were the doctors to deliver his lifeless body before then, my own life could be endangered. In hindsight, this is a barbaric, outmoded medical practice, and thankfully it is no longer done.

Upon reading this, I recollected overhearing adults whisper of such instances when I was growing up. I didn’t know what it all meant, except that a woman had to carry the dead fetus the entire nine months. There’d be no shortcuts. Needless to say the ordeal took its toll on Eden, who unknowingly succumbed to postpartum depression. After 15 years of marriage she divorced Ansara who was bewildered by her decision. And in retrospect, she regrets not having sought counseling to save her marriage. For the consequences took its toll on their son. “But I still regret our divorce, because the repercussions it would one day have on Matthew would turn out to be cataclysmic. Had I been able to look into a crystal ball at that time, I would have stayed in the marriage until Matthew was an adult. but I didn’t.”

In 1974, Michael, Matthew, and I were living in our ranch-style home in the San Fernando Valley, a prosperous community of well-heeled, well-educated people. Little did we know that someone who lived close by, a wealthy hippie, a man with children of his own, was growing pot in his garden and smoking it with the neighborhood kids. I guess that particular person thought that what he was doing was fun, cool, harmless. If I ever came face-to-face with him, I’d happily kill him.

Fate is so strange, and I often ask myself this question: if Michael and I had lived in another neighborhood, not one where our neighbor was growing pot and handing it out to kids like some kind of candy, would Matthew have avoided becoming a drug addict?

But the reality may well be different. Marijuana can be an extremely addictive drug, and the addiction is intensified if a child not only starts smoking when he is extremely young but also has a marked genetic predisposition to addiction. Sadly, Matthew fell into both categories. Michael and I both had alcoholism in our respective families. Michael’s grandfather was an alcoholic, as were both my mother’s older sister and her brother. Matthew’s early addiction to marijuana easily led to an addiction to harder drugs later on.

Another factor, one for which I will blame myself to my dying day, is that Matthew was only nine when I asked Michael for a divorce, and he never really recovered from having his hitherto happy home broken up. …

…on the morning of June 26, (2001) all my worst fears came true. Matthew was dead. …He was just thirty-five years old.

Barbara Eden’s life continued in the same way that all our lives do…with its ups and downs. Although Michael Ansara remains the “love of her life,” she has found happiness with her third husband, Jon Eicholtz, a builder/developer.

a mom who tried to do it all…and in my estimation…remained a classy lady despite her tragic losses…hugmamma.

 

an easter gift to ourselves, feeding the hungry

Spent a couple of hours Saturday evening volunteering once again at the community hall serving dinner to those who wandered in from the street. My husband and I decided to fill in wherever needed, rather than commit to a regular schedule. As with most who offer their time, it’ll probably work out to be once-a-month that I prepare a dish that we bring along for the meal.

While 2 or 3 of the women are there more often because they coordinate the effort, others like us are there now and then. As for the needy, most seem to be regulars who are familiar with the routine. They’re very respectful as they enter the hall. Early by about 15-20 minutes, the men and women mill about, settling into chairs while they wait. If dessert is set out some might help themselves to a little, probably too hungry to wait, while others wander about aimlessly, perhaps too antsy, and hungry, to sit still.

Meatloaf

Image by su-lin via Flickr

The woman-in-charge was delayed, so we waited until she arrived to serve up dinner. We didn’t know where the second pan of meat loaf and a side dish of cauliflower were, or if they’d even been delivered. The coordinator arrived, the food was found warming in the oven, and the meal was ready. Meanwhile, the diners had lined up along one side of the hall, patiently waiting to be invited to step up and be served.

Salad with vinaigrette dressing

Image via Wikipedia

I served the meatloaf, another woman served the risotto dish she’d made, a middle-school boy helped with the tomato/mozzarella salad with balsamic vinaigrette I’d assembled, while his mom served up an ambrosia fruit salad. The diners helped themselves to garlic bread and the dessert of homemade strawberry shortcake.

There were a couple of newcomers that made me reflect. One was a young boy about 15 years old, I think. He looked as though he’d not bathed in a while, his hair disheveled, his face streaked with dirt, his ti-shirt and pants wrinkled and perhaps a little smelly. He arrived late, quietly approached the table, and mumbled that he was starving. My mother’s heart quickly sprang into action, offering him a couple of helpings of meatloaf, huge servings of mashed potatoes and risotto, and several slices of the tomato/mozzarella salad. He also got a spoonful of the cauliflower dish from another volunteer.The boy accepted everything gratefully, as they all do. Of course they may not like everything, but they’re not forced to eat it all. Later I did see the young man very discreetly throw out what remained on his plate, including the tomatoes and cheese. I felt for him as he stood at the  trash bin, seeming unsure as to whether or not he should discard the food given him. I think he did, finally. I’m glad. Just because he’s destitute, doesn’t mean he’s not free to still choose. My husband said he’d encountered the boy as he neared the hall. Standing outside until he could be useful, my husband informed the boy who asked what time it was, that, in fact, a meal was being served for any who desired to partake. My husband was also touched to see such a young person obviously in need of something to eat.

strawberry shortcake

Image by QuintanaRoo via Flickr

Late into the meal, a mother pushing a stroller arrived, accompanied by a younger relative carrying the baby. We had to scrape together what remained of the food, except for the salad of which there was lots left since I’d brought 3 platters. The latecomers seemed happy to be getting whatever they could. They, and the others, are a reminder that there are those who will eat anything, rather than have nothing whatsoever to eat.

As he did the last time we volunteered, my husband got to work scrubbing what serving dishes were emptied of food. Most had been cooked in disposable aluminum foil pans which were tossed, so there was less to clean up than before. As a result we left earlier than others who remained behind chatting. In taking our leave, we agreed that it was another evening well spent at the community hall. It felt especially good since we were celebrating Easter the following day. Feeding the hungry meant we were doing what Christ had done.

What Good Are These For So Many?

Image by andycoan via Flickr

giving to others…what we take for granted…hugmamma.