artificial insemination syringe
My daughter has picked up quite a few traits from me—my early-morning grumpiness, my unwavering love for potatoes, and my uncanny ability to detect spoiled food from blocks away (not exactly a useful skill, but it is what it is). Recently, I’ve come to realize she’s also inherited my knack for elaborate sleep talking. Through the baby monitor, I can hear her dreamy conversations: “That’s not a suitcase; it’s a baby seal,” followed by a giggle, and moments later, “No thanks, I don’t want to kiss the broccoli.”
We love to talk—my daughter and I. Our days are filled with chatter about dinner plans and gossip about her classmates (“R.J. got into another fight with Alex, and they had to sit facing each other on the mat!”). We reminisce about past events, like her first bee sting by the pool or how her dad and I met. Conversations are our way of connecting; it’s our love language. So, it’s no surprise that when we hit a snag, we often try to talk through it.
I grew up in a household where children were discouraged from expressing their thoughts, which led me to swing to the opposite extreme when it came to raising my own child. Whenever she protests—be it about bedtime or leaving a playdate—my instinct is to engage in conversation.
“Time for bed, sweetheart,” I say.
“Why?”
“If you don’t sleep enough, you’ll be tired tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone needs rest to recharge.”
“Why?”
And thus begins the never-ending cycle of “why.” No one knows the torturous purgatory of the “why-loop” better than a parent. Sometimes, I watch my partner, with his quick responses, effortlessly guiding her where she needs to go with just a few words, and I can’t help but think, “That must be so nice.” There’s a certain efficiency in not talking that I occasionally find myself envious of. I wondered what it would be like to just stay quiet for a change.
Beyond my relationship with my daughter, my conversations with others are also characterized by a constant need to fill silence. When a neighbor texts asking for a favor, like delivering granola bars to the teachers, despite my long to-do list, I feel compelled to say yes. Frustrated, I vented to a friend: “It’s like my mouth has a mind of its own; I can’t help but say yes!”
“Or,” she suggested gently, “you could just… not say anything.”
“Wait, you mean be silent?” I was taken aback.
“Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”
“It would be super awkward,” I replied.
“More awkward than resenting the task you agreed to do?”
So, I gave it a shot. The next time someone made a request that crossed my boundaries, I simply didn’t respond. It was uncomfortable, and my heart raced at the awkwardness, but I held my ground. To my surprise, the other person backed off. “Or if you can’t, that’s okay too.”
This happened repeatedly. Silence became a sort of magic; it allowed others to reconsider their requests and gave me the space to formulate more thoughtful responses than a hasty agreement. I don’t view silence as avoidance of conflict—it’s more of a return to a natural pause, a moment to reflect. I began to wonder if this approach could be just as effective in parenting.
A few days later, my daughter was completely engrossed in The Octonauts. As the show ended and the credits rolled, I reached for the remote.
“No, Mama, no!” she cried, sounding as if she’d been grievously wronged.
As she protested the abrupt end to her show, my first instinct was to explain why we limit screen time and suggest we go outside to swing instead. But then I realized we’ve had this conversation countless times. Instead, I decided to remain silent. I let her express her feelings without jumping in to fill the space with explanations she could recite from memory. My silence wasn’t accompanied by a glare or disappointment; it was simply neutral. I counted silently to five, then ten. Gradually, I noticed her expression changing. She relaxed and shrugged.
“Okay, let’s go put on our shoes,” she said.
Silence, while beneficial for me, also allowed my daughter to pause and gather her thoughts. It offered her the chance to reframe the situation herself, fostering a sense of independence and agency, knowing she could manage her reactions. In a world that’s always buzzing with communication, what better gift is there than the serenity found in silence?
Of course, my daughter and I will continue to engage in conversation (and I hope she never stops her charming sleep talking). There will be more significant issues to discuss—current events, crushes, and the inevitable friend conflicts. Yet, in moments where our words have become repetitive, we can turn to this newfound tool, offering us both the grace to pause and reconsider.
For more insights on parenting strategies, check out this related post on our blog here. If you’re interested in artificial insemination, Cryobaby’s at-home insemination kit is a fantastic option. Additionally, you can find valuable information about pregnancy here.