Dr. Von Ferber Can Kiss My Ass

I am the quintessential sleep Nazi. All my children have been Ferberized in one way or another, usually with the minimum of crying. In fact, I was one of those loathsome women who very sanctimoniously shook her head at you and said, "Really, it never takes more than ten to twenty minutes. And it's much, much better for the baby." And then I met Abraham Chabon, aka, Vomit-Kid. Tonight his father decided that enough was enough, the little rotter was going to go to sleep at a decent hour. This is a house where the children are normally all in their beds by 7:30, 8 at the latest. That’s the only way it works with four kids. And this little bugger had no nap today. NO NAP. He's not even two.

It's now 9:45 at night. By my last count Abe has vomited 6 times. That is, he has cried hysterically, until he’s made himself throw up, six times. He's made a slow circuit around his crib, vomiting as he goes. For the first two hours he wailed, "Daddy, Daddy, no, no." Then he cried, "Mommy." Twice. And that’s all she wrote. One second of Mommy and I sent Michael in with a bottle. I couldn't hack it because I’m a big wus.

I don't know what's wrong with me nowadays. Back in the day, I probably would have let Sophie sleep in a pool of her own dried vomit. I think I'm just worn out, ground down. They've emerged victorious, those children of mine. I'm raising the white flag. I quit. Abe can just sleep with us in our bed. Presumably he'll move out at some point, right? Like in high school, when he wants to start getting laid? He's not going to be bringing chicks home to his mom and dad's bed.

I think that might be too gross to be funny.

Cut me some slack. I have a smear of white vomit on my black T-shirt, and I spent the last two hours hysterically cleaning out my medicine cabinet in order to drown out the wailing. Who knew I had so much Vicodin?