Why People Think I'm More Ethnic Than I Am

While I was pregnant, my good friend Justin, who is notorious for saying moderately ridiculous things (that's very understated), told me that he was going to refer to Declan (Dek-lin) as Day-klahn. We all laughed. Hard.

Here's the thing: People actually call Declan (Dek-lin) Day-klahn. Like... a lot of people. Two days ago I got a phone call from the billing department at my obgyn's office. The phone conversation went something like this:

Billing Department: Valerie, please.

Valerie Please: This is Valerie

Billing: (in a comically surprised tone) Oh, haha. Okay. (I've since come to recognize this as the point in the conversation when the person realizes I'm white.) Valerie, I'm calling about Day-klahn's circumcision.

Quick aside: Not the best way to start a conversation with a new mother... or any mother, really. She'd yet to identify herself as with the billing department, and so my first thought is "oh, crap, they messed it up."

Valerie Please: Okay...

Billing: What's Day-klahn's date of birth?

Valerie Please: July 1st... what did you say this was regarding again?

Billing: (very slowly, as if this is a stupid question) Day-klahn's circum-cision

Valerie Please: Yes ma'am, I got that, but unless they're going to do it again I need you to be a little more specific.

Billing: I'm calling about the circumcision they did.

Valerie Please: Okay...?

Billing: Well, we need to bill you for that.

Valerie Please: Oh, great. That's all I needed to know. And by the way, it's Dek-lin.

Billing: (As if this changes everything) Oooooh!

This experience is not a far cry from most other "I'm trying to pronounce this kid's name right" experiences. For example, I can always tell which nurse I'm talking to at the pediatricians office based on how they say his name. One woman calls him "Dee-klin" and another sticks with the classic "Day-Klahn."

I had to go in to get his belly button checked out earlier this week (it seriously looks like he has an elephant trunk, but apparently this is normal), and I wish I'd had a camera when the nurse popped into the waiting room and called for "Day-klahn"

Nurse: Day-klahn?

Me: That's us

Nurse: (nonchalantly peering into the car seat, presumably to investigate Day-klahn's race) It's not pronounced Day-klahn, is it?

Me: Nope, it's Dek-lin. But Day-klahn is starting to grow on me, so call him whatever you like. (She started calling him Dek-lin after that.)

I knew I was setting Declan up for a lot of "can you spell that?" moments throughout his life, but I never anticipated the great Day-klahn Debacle of 2012. I kind of think of it as an added bonus.

I will be completely unsurprised, however, if he decides to start going by DJ by the time he hits third grade.

On Becoming Baby Dumb

I have finally found a spare fifteen minutes during which Declan is allowing me to utilize both of my hands for something other than patting his back, fetching his binky, or rubbing his stomach. This free time was hiding behind sleep props. Many, many sleep props.

A sleep prop, as defined in the popular Baby Wise books, is a way to get your infant to sleep unnaturally: Rocking, bouncing, white noise-- essentially, anything other than putting your baby in a crib and saying "see you in a few hours, son." It's artificial sleep, if you will.

A few weeks ago, I was all about this baby wise system. It made sense. I didn't want Declan to rely on rocking or singing to get to sleep. He needed to learn to do it the good old fashioned way and he needed to learn immediately.

I look back on that phase of my life with fondness now. I look back and think "aw, that's cute."

Cute? Yes. Realistic? Maybe for some fictitious baby gift wrapped and delivered exactly on his due date by the stork. But not for Declan. Not even close. Currently Declan is swaddled and sleeping in a vibrating bouncer cradle with a white noise making machine positioned a foot from his ear. He is sucking away happily at his binky and he hasn't cried in quite some time.

That's right, folks, we're using enough sleep props now to start our own off Broadway production. And I'm happy with it. If that's not Baby Wise (I've read the books-- it's not) then call me Baby Dumb. I'll gladly wear that title. I'll also gladly clean my house, read a book, and sleep at night.

Maybe the Baby Wise system is the smartest way to do things. Maybe I'll be kicking myself in about a month. I lost enough sleep to not really care that much, though. In fact, there is Biblical evidence that even sweet, eight pound six ounce baby Jesus needed a sleep prop or two. First account of swaddling clothes? The Bible. And correct me if I'm wrong, but was Jesus laying in a manger or a crib? The song isn't called "Away In A Flat Surfaced, Firm Mattressed Crib."

Moral of the story? Now that we've given in to all the wrong ways to put Declan to sleep, he's actually sleeping and so are we. And the Dunham family lived happily ever after.