Comfort Without Actually Touching

It's Saturday night.  I am in a house in the hills. It's wood and windows. Spacious, airy, modern, lots of straight lines. And glass. Which is all dark because it's Saturday night. And I am all alone. 

Well, there's an invalid in the back room.  Can't speak, can't sit up and if necessary, I may need to wipe her ass. I am deep in the land of jobs-you-take-when-you're-unemployed. I am observing this helpless client through the aid of sophisticated night vision video relay which is positioned so that I am watching her eyes for rapid movement and an audio feed lets me hear each labored breath.  This surveillance equipment is called the Summer 0700. In layman's terms, it's a baby monitor. 

                                                                 

She's all of six months old and she's been, as far as I can tell on a two inch screen, pretty much asleep and breathing unaided since her parents left. 

I have also been breathing unaided since my parents left. But I've been having bad dreams. And no one is watching on the monitor. 

Initially, I had a lot of anxiety about letting my parents take over my 1-bedrooom apartment. There wouldn't be any space. I wouldn't have any alone-time. What if I just wanted to chill out and watch tv?

My parents arrived and pretty soon it felt like they had been living with me forever. It was a slumber party without all the braiding of the hair. My two birds, Finley and Charlie, decided that my mother was the head-hen and flew past me to sit on her shoulder. My father relished eating cold pumpkin pie and leafing through the LA WEEKLY, reading aloud the plastic surgery ads with delight. We sure don't have these ads in Chicago.  Oh, listen to this one! Vaginal rejuvenation - ha ha! 

My mother kept dreaming up ideas for the apartment which I knew we would never accomplish. We need to get you some shelf liners and take everything out of these cabinets, clean it all by hand, line the shelves, and then put everything back in.  And then we're going to rewire the bathroom and put in hardwood floors. Won't that look great? 

I made six eggs, scrambled, at once. And they were all eaten. Dishes piled up and got cleaned, dried and put away in assembly-line fashion. We even had to knock on the bathroom door to tell my dad to hurry it up already. 

It was like having a family. 

                                              

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I have been instructed not to pick up the baby. She's being sleep-trained. If she cries, loudly, screaming, for five minutes straight - (I am supposed to time her) - then I can go in, stand 1 foot away from the crib and say in a comforting voice - You're alright. You're doing great. You are going to be okay.  Then close the door and return to the video monitor. 

The goal of sleep-training is for the child to comfort themselves - to self-soothe. If they aren't used to being picked up and comforted when they wake up, they won't expect it.  They'll just cry themselves back to sleep and grow up to be more self-reliant adults. 

I am a self-reliant adult. I live in a place built for one. I have one parking space. When I am upset, I call my friends who live in their 1-bedroom apartments and explain how I am feeling and why I am feeling that way. They all tell me the same thing, how can you take care of yourself in this situation? 

I go on about three dates a month. Usually with three different people who I never see again. They are all nice, employed guys of average height and weight and would be considered attractive by the world at large. They all live in 1-bedroom apartments. We shake hands, we share a meal, I thank them for the meal, and we shake hands again.  When my parents' friends inquire about my romantic life, I have one answer - I just haven't connected with anyone. 

There was a study done in the mid-nineties of  children pre-school through kindergarten. They were observed sometimes at school and sometimes at home. When hurt or upset, all the children did one of two things:  Go to the nearest female adult - most often their mother - for help; or run off to be by themselves and hide their crying from others even to the extent of telling a teacher to go away if they were approached. These same people were followed into adulthood. Those that turned to their mothers for comfort by in large, sought out committed relationships as adults. The children that ran off to be alone when they were hurt were more often depressed and had difficulty maintaining long-term romantic relationships. 

Before my parents came to visit, I wondered if I could really share my space with someone else. Since they've left, the space feels more like a void. 

It has been 5 minutes of lungs out screaming. I go in. It's pitch dark but I can feel the hot frustration of a screaming infant hanging moist in the air.  I guess the crib is 12 inches away, but I have no idea because my night vision isn't nearly as good as the Summer 0700. 

Because I am a good babysitter, I take a deep breath and say, with all the sincerity I can fake and all the baby-soothing tones I can muster, You're alright. You're doing great. You're going to be okay.  

Without even taking a breath, her curling high pitched scream lasts for the entire soothing message. 

I take another step and realize I am right next to the crib. The small green light of the baby monitor shines like a lighthouse telling me I am close to her sweet, screaming head.  

I reach out my hand in the darkness and place it on her heaving chest.  I speak plainly, because now, I am telling her the truth. 

Self sufficiency is overrated. 

I am back at my post, watching her on the two inch screen. She's not screaming, but she's not sleeping either. Her eyes are wide open, blinking in the darkness. I think she might just go for another round. According to directions, the second time she has to scream for ten straight minutes. Then I can go in again and comfort without touching. But I decide, if she has one more belt in her, damn it, I am picking her up. And I am going to tell her, scream your fucking head off, kid. Scream like your life depends on it.