Monday, July 18th, 2011
My baby sleeps in the bathroom. It’s perhaps my best trick of motherhood. But before the sleep Nazis get all over me, let me smugly clarify: she goes down like an angel for 12 hours in her crib at night. Ferber is a genius. With naps though, his methods fall short for me. And Fi.
For months I’d get anywhere from 29-31 minutes, at most twice a day, in the crib. Hardly enough time to wash a dish, pet the cat or write a blog. Our Brooklyn apartment is very loft-like and her room and the downstairs bathroom are the quietest places in the house. But the bathroom has something her bedroom doesn’t: total darkness (if I make her room dark, I can’t run the a/c window unit).
I happened upon my baby-in-the-bathroom trick when a guy was coming over to install a safety gate (this, after my husband threw his drill across the room in frustration, proclaiming KidCo had “ruined his day.”) I knew the handy man would be pounding near her bedroom. Desperately I tried to think of where to put her.