Wants and Needs

What a baby wants is what it needs. Attachment parenting proponent William Sears says this. Milk (food), touch, and being held are the obvious early needs. As the baby becomes a child, this becomes trickier. Obviously we’re not going to give our kids everything they want. So, how do we determine their needs?

Well, that’s a good question. One that I answered by looking at my own wants and needs. Could I separate the two? This contemplation – over years – led me to respect my own wants, and this has allowed me to open my heart – to myself, my children, and others in my life.

What about night time parenting – do our children need us at night? I struggled with this in the early days of parenting when Primo woke many times in the night to nurse and to be comforted. To answer the question I turned to my own life. I had company in my bed at night. I love to stretch out a foot and feel the warm sleeping body next to me.

Mammal babies sleep in a heap. It’s how we start life, cozily curled up inside the mother, lulled by a heartbeat. I love the idea of maintaining this sensuous connection.

What I didn’t like was being the only one to respond in the night.

I set myself up for failure when I began to do all the night time parenting. I had the breasts, after all, and he had to function during the day. We did sleep in a family bed for a while. This worked better for me, as I could easily roll over to attend to the baby, and cuddle with the other child. I learned to enjoy the pride of family. But in the end, this sleeping and parenting arrangement contributed to a further breakdown of my relationship with the kids’ father.

What I learned is that night time parenting requires teamwork and discipline – just like day time parenting. It’s a process of graduated steps that happen naturally when the child – and parents – are ready and paying attention.

Something interesting happened last night. I woke up to hear Secundo crying. It was midnight. I went to him. He had climbed off his little bed and found his brother who was sleeping in a nest on the floor. He tried to curl up with Primo but he was confused, only half awake, and crying. I pulled him back up onto his bed. We had a cozy cuddle and he fell asleep.

Around 5 am I awoke to the sounds of the two-year-old crying again. I was alone in bed. Andy had gone to Secundo. I listened. There was a lot of crying and I intended to help Andy if the crying didn’t stop. It did. Then it started again. Stopped and started.

Should I rescue Andy? Five months into parenting my two kids – is he ready for this? And Secundo – is he ready? He’s not with me every night (he spends two nights a week with his father), so when he’s in my house, I give him as much of me as he needs. I couldn’t sleep with all these thoughts.

Finally I walked through the dark kitchen and living room to the boys’ bedroom. I whispered quietly, “Do you need my help?” “No, thanks,” Andy answered. “Let me do this, please.” I respected Andy’s wish. I surrendered. Let go of my primal need to respond to my child.

Maybe it’s me who needs him, I thought. And more importantly, Andy is ready to take responsibility. He needs this opportunity to practice. And Secundo needs to learn that Andy can comfort him. This is a partnership, Andy often reminds me. That’s the way it works in a family.

Half an hour passed. Finally there was that thick, dark silence that comes with sleep.

When Andy came back to bed he gathered me in his arms. “Thanks for that,” he said. “It was hard, but we did it.”

Over toast and coffee at breakfast Andy recounted the tale of night time parenting. When he went to Secundo in the night, the boy only wanted me. “She’s not here,” Andy said. That was not the right answer. Secundo wailed. “No, no, Mummy’s asleep,” Andy corrected when Secundo finally took a breath. “We don’t want to wake her.” Secundo took some shaggy breaths, and leaned into Andy. Then started up again.

Andy picked him up and carried him into the living room. “Look,” said Andy. “It’s dark. Sleepy time.”

“Nigh-nigh,” said Secundo. “No, no.”

“It’s OK,” Andy said. “You’re OK.”

“Mummy,” Secundo pleaded.

“I’m right here with you,” Andy reassured him.

Finally Secundo relaxed. Stopped crying. And leaned his head against Andy’s chest. “Should we get a sleeping bag for you?” Andy suggested. “Just like your brother.”

“Yeah,” Secundo liked that idea. “

They lay down together. “Mumma?” Secundo asked again.

“I’m here,” Andy said.

“Mummy?” Secundo held onto Andy’s finger. Relaxed. “Daddy,” he said and finally succumbed to sleep.

Andy didn’t dare move until the boy was deep in. Then he extricated his stiff shoulder from under the slumbering body and headed back to our bed. Dazed, dozy, blissful.

That’s how the attachment grows. That’s how the bond develops. I step aside and let Andy do some of the hard work. It’s ironic that what I used to dread – the night time parenting – is now a joy and a privilege that we share and appreciate. That time of the day is so tender.

In the end, a mammal’s needs in the night are so easy to meet: comfort, touch, reassurance. A mother can provide this. Siblings too. Father. Dada Andy. And when the boy’s ready he’ll sleep through the night -- look at his brother. Primo didn’t wake through any of that. I didn’t believe it would ever happen.

Now I have faith. And I’m not in any hurry. I’m so enjoying this lovely time of our life.