Питер Мейл: Baby Taming [non pics]

Roughly translated, the little genius was saying: "I am not ready to go to bed yet."

Babies are hams. They dread the moment when the light goes out and the audience

disappears. At the slightest sign of encouragement they will perform with a professional smoothness that would do credit to a dolphin.

Difficult though it is to bring an end to this performance, you must. Otherwise, like a junkie who can't shake the habit, you'll be hooked on charm, and your baby will know it. At the first sign of any disciplinary nonsense from you, the smiles, the dimples, and the gurgles will be turned on until you submit, a victim of the worst kind of subversive warfare. You won't even know you've lost until it's too late.

Don't weaken. If you've decided that bedtime is 6 o'clock, make sure you're sitting down with

a drink at 6:05, and not dancing attendance at the bedside.

There is a price to pay before you can feel that victory is yours. As soon as your baby realizes that charm isn't going to work, less subtle weapons will be brought into play. For relatively small creatures, babies have supernaturally powerful lungs; you'll hear them at full blast for several nights.

These tantrums will not be just plain bellowing, although that will certainly form part of the act. Most babies are capable of expressing their outrage with a wide range pf vocal effects, from a pathetic whimpering calculated to make your neighbours think you've been using thumbscrews and a bullwhip, all the way up to an express-train shriek, interspersed with heavy sighs, sobs and the occasional ominous thud.

The first time you hear this astounding performance, you are convinced something dreadful has happened — head stuck through the bars of the cot at the very least. You rush into the bedroom, petrified with worry and remorse — to be greeted by a tear-stained face wearing a broad grin. Miraculously, your baby turns the noise off and the charm on. You've lost.

The only thing to do is harden your heart, resign yourself to a half-hour of high-octane screeching for a week or so, and retire to the farthest corner of your house until baby gets bored and tired and gives up.

Sooner or later, your baby will probably develop a persistent bedtime passion for one particular object. It may be a doll, a teddy, an old dummy, a piece of silk, a cotton

handkerchief, a fur hat, a thumb, an old cotton nappy or a tattered blanket. The objects vary, but their purpose is the same: to provide comfort and soothing familiarity in times of tiredness and stress.

All that seems innocent enough. But you should know that these outwardly harmless odds and ends have a secondary purpose: they are there to get lost and cause you trouble. Once your baby has established that the sticky Cindy doll with one leg is essential for a good night's rest, you can be sure that it won't be long before the doll vanishes. Baby is broken-hearted. As bedtime approaches, panic sets in. No substitute will do. The whole household is turned upside down to look for the wretched doll, and bedtime is postponed until it's found. Which is, of course, exactly what your baby had in mind when hiding the doll under the mattress earlier in the day.

However bizarre the favourite pacifier is, be sure you have an identical replacement tucked away. If it means buying a brand-new doll and abusing it until it reaches the required state of scruffiness, go ahead. The time and money will be well spent.

One of the many shocks to the system that babies love to deliver will come at between 6—12 months. Just as you think you've got the whole bedtime problem licked, your baby will suddenly discover how to climb out of the cot. This is a crucial test of your ability to cope with unexpected combat conditions, because there's no telling when this moment will come.

Keep calm. Conceal your surprise. Don't exclaim over baby's new-found climbing talent. Don't make an event out of it by calling your

husband, wife or friends to have a look. Return the baby to bed as if nothing had happened. Baby will be mystified, having expected a much more dramatic reaction from you. The two or three

days of puzzlement that follow will give you time to put new, higher bolts on the doors and windows, or to make arrangements to convert the playpen into a large and high-barred bed.

The Longest Bottleof All

Entire books have been written about toilet training, but they ignore the subtleties of the situation. Much, much more is involved than teaching the mere mechanical process of using a pot instead of a nappy. Bluff and counterbluff, bribery and threat, will-power versus instinct — they all have their place in this long and often bitterly fought struggle.

The textbooks say that a child has little control over the bowels until the age of two, or the bladder until two and a half. This may be true, but we have our doubts. It's important to

bear in mind from the start that babies are not stupid. It doesn't take them long to work out that a dirty, wet nappy is an uncomfortable place to spend the day. Neither does it take long for them to realize that they could be dry and comfortable if only they performed on demand and on the pot.

So why are they prepared to endure months or years of discomfort? Because they know full well that this is one of the best opportunities they'll ever get to impose their will on you. Everything is in their favour and, more or less, under their control. They can strike day or

night. The element of surprise is always working for them. All this, they feel, is worth a few damp hours each day.

Toilet training is a war of attrition, and the side that succeeds in establishing a pattern will win. If you wait for your baby to make the first move, you're halfway toward losing. Take the initiative while you still can.

As soon as you feel that your baby is ready to sit up comfortably with support from you, get into a routine: five minutes on the pot immediately after every meal. You'll hear a lot of conflicting opinions about the best time to put a baby on the pot, but we are firm believers in the regular after-meal session. (After-breakfast, in our case, has been particularly fruitful.)

The chances of hitting the jackpot are not necessarily any greater, but you can make very good use of the time by carrying out the winding drill (which in itself has been known to encourage bigger and better things). Tempting though it may be to skip this routine when you're in a rush or short of patience, and boring though it is, stick to it. If it only saves three messy nappies a week, it's worth the effort.

Occasionally and quite accidentally in the early stages, the enforced period on the pot will coincide with a bowel movement. Your natural reaction is to breathe a sigh of relief, put a fresh nappy on your baby, and get on with the business of the day. Before you do, it's well worth spending a couple of moments on what will at first strike you as a rather curious ritual.

Babies find their faeces fascinating, and they love applause. You can profit from these two chinks in their armor. Every time something does actually appear in the pot, show your baby

(who will be very intrigued), and offer loud and prolonged congratulations. You never know. With some babies, flattery is sometimes stronger than the will to win. If your baby is susceptible, it could speed up the toilet-training period considerably.

Having lulled you into thinking that you're making progress, your baby will probably counterattack with an infuriating rearguard action. After a long and totally unproductive session on the pot, you give up and change the nappy. Almost within seconds, you are made aware by either loud yells or the broadest of grins that what was hoped for earlier has suddenly come to pass. Your baby is smelly but triumphant.

There's no way of preventing this trick every time it's attempted, but there are certain signals that usually precede the event. Here they are: A sudden period of silence and a preoccupied