The Exorcism of Ezzo

When I was pregnant with Addie, a well-meaning mom of six gave me "On Being Babywise" by Gary Ezzo. (You can always tell the writer's opinion of a gift when the giver is described as "well-meaning.") I'd heard of Ezzo, of course. He fit in well with my conditioned-to-obey background, and the mom praised him enthusiastically as her sanity-saver when she had her last three children. I read the book, and certainly agreed with his points. And since my child pretty much had to be a model of well-trained offspring, I assumed his method was good, too.

I had no idea that, with his method, came his ghost to haunt me.

I don't like to remember Addie's early months, seeing as they were a jumble of bewilderment, guilt, and a pride that didn't let me ask anyone for advice. But over all that time, the ghost of Ezzo hovered and wailed dire warnings and doom whenever I deviated from his philosophy. I honestly felt guilty for holding my child whenever I wanted to, and especially for picking her up when she was "crying herself to sleep." We won't even discuss feedings, and how inadequate I felt because I didn't try hard enough to put Addie on a schedule.

When Stuart arrived, I'd grown up a little bit. Despite the awful possibility that I would spoil my baby and wreck his sleep habits (and therefore our comfortable life) for years to come, I decided I'd pick him up and put him down whenever I felt like it. I should have been a much happier mother, but the ghost of Ezzo had followed me into my second round and was howling worse than ever. My only triumph was in the feeding arena. Stuart set his own schedule, and I even nursed him after his naps to help him wake up happily. He slept well and plumped out into one of the fattest babies in history. True, he was eight or nine months old before he cut out a night feeding, but we took care of that when we got tired of it, not when the ghost of Ezzo said we should. Ezzo could manage only a faint whimper of "just wait and see what he's like when he's two."

At ages one and two; two and three; three and four; four and five... Addie and Stuart are beautiful sleepers. That's when I realized that Ezzo doesn't know our children, and that a child's habits have a lot to do with who he is, not which method his parents use on him.

When Daphne was born, the ghost of Ezzo hardly had the heart to moan. I can't keep track of when she's "supposed" to eat, so I feed her when she says she's hungry. Sometimes she gives false information, but she finds comfort in feeding, so I don't consider it wasted effort. After we brought her home from the Lampe wedding, she was so jangled that she refused any arms except Mama's. I had to sleep with her all night, acting basically as a big pacifier. Ezzo whimpered, but Daphne and I slept well. We put her in her cradle at night, but if she cries, we pick her up. Sometimes if she's sleeping soundly, we still pick her up, because she's so marvelously cute. I have never enjoyed the new-baby stage like I have this time.

One night, Darren and I sat on our bed and chatted while Daphne, on a pillow in front of us, tossed her head around with her mouth open, confident that food was going to happen into it any moment. We waited until she got hungry enough to squawk, and then I picked her up. At the same time, I happened to glance at the clock.

"Oh, look," I said. "Exactly three hours this time."

And then we realized that we'd been watching the baby, not the clock. I think that was the moment that the ghost of Ezzo gave its final wail and dissipated. I haven't heard much from him since.

-- SJ

P.S. Some other time: The Exorcism of Pearl