The average Chicago city lot is 25 feet by 150 feet, most houses are long and narrow and few that have been constructed recently lack a finished basement.  Space is at a premium so the basement as storage area (as it mostly was in the house I grew up in) doesn't really exist.  Our basement is part entertainment area (the "Den of Great Manliness"), part utility (home to our laundry area and a half bathroom) and part guest space.  Fortunately, it is also all contiguous, and as long as the door to the guest room is open, you can traverse the entire length of the house without much getting in your way.

When Ms. Z was tiny, she didn't much like the idea of staying put.  We used to think that she had some kind of altimeter combined with a motion sensor and if either of them dropped below some kind of pre-set threshold then it would cause some jolt to her nervous system that resulted in a very unhappy baby.  But John also discovered early on that we could use this to our advantage when trying to get her to sleep.  If you had the patience to walk with her long enough and you had her ny-ny (Polish for blankie) then she would eventually fall asleep.  The basement was the ideal location for this walking process.  The light levels were low, the temperatures cool, and the distractions few.  Even a very alert baby could be lulled into a calmer mindset when the time was right.

At first, impatient person that I am, it was all I could do to slowly pace the basement until she fell asleep. It made me crazy. I had to watch the clock to keep myself focused on the job.  Time seemed to slow down and just a few minutes would feel like ten, carrying a restless baby.  Eventually I worked out a deal with myself.  I learned to pace myself slowly enough so that one loop of the basement took me about a minute.  And I decided that I would walk for at least 10 minutes before changing my program.  If, after 10 minutes, she was still awake, then I could take her upstairs and wait a while until I tried again.  Amazingly enough, by 10 minutes, she was almost always asleep.  And I started to look forward to our little walks.

I think the slow pace helped the baby calm down since it created a gentle and predictable rhythm.  It also helped me slow down and enjoy the time with her.  I started to focus on the small things.  The way she positioned her body, how she relaxed as we made our way through our walk, her gentle breathing, the angelic baby face when she drifted off.  I felt as if I was creating a safe place for her, one where she could sleep in peace.  For me, it became a time to think and enjoy her.  Z is an active baby and not the sort of baby that wants to be held close and snuggled for very long.  This was a time when she wanted to be near. As she got bigger, it brought with it the realization that I would not be able to do this forever.  A time would come when she would be too big to carry.   And that made every one of these sleepy walks even more precious.

Even though she's past her first birthday now, we still take the walks.  In fact, she'll often tell me she's ready for a nap by bringing her ny-ny over to me and putting her head and the ny-ny into my lap.   But the walks are growing shorter.  Rarely does she need much more than 5 minutes to drift off.  As soon as we get our ritual started, she settles in.  It's still as sweet as it ever was, but a little bittersweet because it's clear that she needs our help less and less to do this.

I think one of the most amazing things about Z is how much the little things about her come to fill my heart with joy.  I think back to this time last year when I was struggling with all the newness of having a newborn, not sleeping enough, feeling constrained, and I realize that while I remember those things, most of the negative feelings have gone away, replaced by the many sweet moments that have been a part of growing into becoming her mother.  Listening to her figuring out words, watching her get more and more mobile, and sharing her sleepytime rituals.  When all else is going badly, I can take her on one of our basement walks, watch her slip into sleep, and know I've made her world a better place.  What could be better than that?