The very idea of a “family bed” used to give me the willies. When I thought of kids sharing a bed with parents, my mind was drawn to Monty Python’s “Every Sperm is Sacred.”
When I heard the phrase, “the family bed,” I envisioned the scene from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, in which Charlie has conversations with all four of his grandparents, who share what must be a filthy bed.
These sentiments were, of course, before parenthood. My wife introduced me to the idea just as our first child was born, and it was not long before we were debating what most parents must—do we let the kid cry it out in a crib or comfort him between us? Young parents are always on edge, eager to do What’s Right. The practice of sharing a family bed, also known as “co-sleeping” in the literature, or as night parenting among the Attachment Parenting crowd is an increasingly-common point of discussion.
According to James J. McKenna, Ph.D., an anthropologist and internationally-known expert on infant sleep, the parental urge to take junior aboard may stem from the thousands of years of human evolution during which family co-sleeping was the standard. In a winter, 1996 article in Mothering magazine, McKenna summarizes his views on the anthropological relevance of family sleep sharing, noting that "nighttime parent-infant co-sleeping during at least the first year of life is the universal, species-wide normative context for infant sleep, to which both parents and infants are biologically and psychosocially adapted...Solitary infant sleep is an exceedingly recent, novel and alien experience for the human infant."
Sources claim that what is taken as the norm now--solitary infant sleep and separate bedrooms for parents and children—truly is a phenomena of western culture and only about 150 years old. Most families of the developing world still share beds today. (93% of families in India co-sleep, while only 2% of American families regularly do.) Family beds (or at least bedrooms) are not so far removed from our common culture that terms like “sleeping lofts” or porches are alien to many of us. Back when warmth was hard to come by at night, families snuggled together under one quilt in one bed.
Some theorize that the move to pull apart families at night was one that advanced with affluence; as we could more readily afford more rooms, we did. Others claim a largely patriarchal psychological platform took nighttime parenting in a perverse direction. Consider this advice from the standard American baby handbook, What to Expect the First Year: "If you can tolerate an hour or more of vigorous crying and screaming, don't go to the baby, soothe him, feed him, or talk to him when he wakes up in the middle of the night. Just let him cry until he's exhausted himself-and the possibility, in his mind, that he's going to get anywhere, or anyone, by crying-and has fallen back to sleep.” Rationale for this behavior often returns to Dr. Benjamin Spock, whose book ''Baby and Child Care'' is considered the parental bible, warns against taking children into bed, because it fosters dependency and insecurity. There are also those who argue both ways as to the safety of a baby between two adults in bed.
The Family Bed is not something that bachelors really ever hear much about, and few men are eager to share their nuptial bed with a squirming, squalling reminder of birth control. There is little to be said in favor of sharing a wet family bed, and a new father need only be christened in spit up breast milk once—it’s enough to make any self-respecting man picket against the very idea of sharing a bed with a baby!
No, it’s not really an issue that gets much air time. Usually proponents of the Family bed are also those same individuals who “wear” their baby, grinding their own baby food, milk goats for fun and profit and candle ears for whatever ails ya. Naysayers might be the building trades (why have a 5 bedroom house if one room will do?), bachelors (see above) or the baby industry. I do not mean, here, the parents accused of being baby factories, but instead the commerce that has blossomed around babies, from shower gifts to furniture, accessories, and, of course, the ubiquitous: toys.
The industry has even come up with a device (look it up!) called Nature’s Cradle.” Katie Allison Granju, in her (1996) book, “Attachment Parenting: Instinctive Care for Your Baby and Young Child” shared some ad copy from a recent edition of the OneStepAhead baby catalog:
Nature's Cradle -- the most natural place for your new baby to sleep! This truly revolutionary sleeping and nurturing environment gives baby the familiar, comforting, soothing sensations of the womb, and even includes a maternal heartbeat. Nature's Cradle: Is it magic? Or just a brilliant new way to love your baby? The basic Nature's Cradle looks and feels like...a crib mattress. But it holds a unique secret -- a sophisticated system that simulates a pregnant mother's natural walking motion and rhythm, as well as her internal sounds and the gentle cushioning pressure of the last trimester...the mattress moves in a smooth, rhythmic rocking motion, accompanied by soft "whooshing" similar to the sounds of amniotic fluid and the beat of mother's heart...proven to be the most nurturing, calming place for your new baby to sleep. The Baby Bolster is an essential part of the system...three foam-filled positioning cushions properly swaddle your infant to keep him sleeping safely.
Reminds me of the old adage: “you can’t buy love.”
1 comment:
With our first-born, my former wife and I sort of compromised: we had the crib in the bedroom for the first few months. That seemed to work pretty well.
Kind of related: one of the pre-natal books we read took a as-few-doctors-as-possible approach (which we didn't always subscribe to, especially when it came time for the baby to be born). But something I read in there was that in cultures where it is the norm for parents to carry the baby during the course of performing daily tasks, colic is almost unknown. Who knows what actual correlation there is between the two; all I know is that wearing the Snugli was as much a habit with us as wearing clothes, and we had very little crying of the sort associated with colic.
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