The other twelve hours

One of the things that drew me to attachment parenting was the idea of "nightime parenting" as Dr. Sears calls it. Even though it went against everything I had learned as a busy teenage babysitter, when I was pregnant and eagerly swallowing up the Sears family library, it suddenly made sense to me that a baby would have needs at night just as she does during the day. Why shouldn't she? It's not as if something magical happens when the sun sets, transforming a tiny wobbly dependent person into someone who cannot be scared, woken, cold, or uncomfortable? And those are just the little things. What about the big stuff?

One night when Munch Munch was about five months old, I woke up to the sound of him gagging in his sleep. When I looked closely, I saw that he had thrown up and because he was sleeping on his back, he was asphyxiating. Of course, I was right next to him so I was able to pick him up immediately, pat his back and help him breathe but the incident really scared me. I wondered what would have happened if he had been in another room. Would I have heard him choking through the monitor? Would it have been enough to wake me up? Would he have been able to turn onto his side?

I'm really not telling this story to guilt or scare other people into co-sleeping. I know that there are lots of reasons out there why the family bed might not be a practical or even good choice for other families. But I have to say that my close-call made me question whether babies that young are really designed to spend twelve hours on their own. After all, a baby who can't sit up on his own has pretty limited options for self-help in the event of danger. If he loses his ability (as in this example) to cry out for help, what other options does he really have? All I can say is that night made me really grateful for our sleeping arrangement--whether or not there are other long term benefits to co-sleeping aside--today my baby is safe and alive.