The snuggle for sleep

If there's a true generational divide in parenting, it emerges with the subject of tiny kids and sleep. The first thing my mother tends to ask me by phone is, "Where did Ava sleep last night?" When the answer is "my bed" - which it often is, these days - I'm subject to a few seconds of silent disapproval.

The fact is, with a 4-year-old and a 7-week-old in the house, the bedtime arrangements have gone haywire. The baby usually starts the night in a cradle beside my bed, but after a waking or two - or, if he won't let me swaddle him, even earlier - he'll sleep beside my head on a wedge-shaped piece of foam, my arm resting gently on his to keep him from jerking himself awake. Sometime near morning, the 4-year-old comes in to cuddle on my opposite side. My husband was never there to start with; he's been sleeping variously in our daughter's room, in the guest bed, or on the couch downstairs. Since the baby slurps, grunts, and coos at high decibels in the middle of the night, he's learned that sleep is best achieved elsewhere.

That's the priority in our household: getting everyone to sleep, no matter the location. To parents of a lot of us Gen-Xers, this must sound deeply radical. Apparently, as babies, we slept alone in our cribs from the moment of birth, with nary a fuss - or a fuss that was benevolently ignored. But most families I know have bent the old rules or given them up altogether. Nighttime is less a matter of philosophy than survival.

Still, the philosophy of sleep remains a powerful force - an industry, even, filled with how-to books and consulting practices, most of them dedicated to the old-school ideal of keeping the kids in their own beds for the duration of a long, long night. There's also a counter-movement called "attachment parenting," which preaches the "family bed" and no physical separation from infants. (In its extreme, it leads to "elimination communication," the dubious art of abandoning diapers and following your infant around with a little bowl.) Both sides counsel urgency and absolutism, so the more you read, the more your head spins: Your child will either be damaged forever by sleeping with you or damaged forever by sleeping alone.

The first time around this baby business, I read a lot, thought a lot, and basically chickened out. Despite having met Children's Hospital sleep expert Dr. Richard Ferber - whom, I felt assured, was a decent, gentle man - I couldn't bring myself to follow the process known as "Ferberizing," in which one trains an infant to put herself to sleep, enduring several nights of desperate crying. Partly, I took issue with the title of his book, "Solve Your Child's Sleep Problems." There are true sleep-related syndromes out there, but was my daughter's need for cuddling really one of them? If I were less than 4 feet tall and woke up in the dark, I always figured, where would I rather be: alone in my bed, or snuggled up next to Mommy?

Even Dr. Ferber, in an update of his book, has softened his stance against co-sleeping, acknowledging that in many cultures the family bed is the norm and the concept of a separate kids' room an unheard-of indulgence. Of course, the Ferberized kids I know also seem none the worse for wear. In fact, before my son arrived, I swore I'd follow more old sleeping rules the second time around.

But that was before I got used to waking up with a tiny head next to mine (and realizing that this was an easy way to indulge the new parent's nighttime obsession: checking to see that the baby is still breathing). There's something delicious about a family cuddle, and I have a feeling I'm more likely to buy a king-size bed than to convert myself into a nighttime hard-liner. Babies aren't babies for long. The snuggling impulse wanes. Why not enjoy it while it lasts, and catch up on sleep a few years from now? I suppose that's a philosophy, too - and if it upsets my elders, so be it.

Joanna Weiss can be reached at weiss@globe.com.