For me, the issue is a lack of sleep; the very same guidebook that has kept me from blogging regularly also is keeping me from putting my head on the pillow for more than a few measly hours a night.

Coffee and other stimulants (all legal, don’t worry) have helped me deal with a good portion of this insomnia. The rest of my secret: Narcolepsy, such as the kind I demonstrated on the chair of my hair stylist this afternoon (Laurel, I hope you realize what a compliment it is when I pass out while you’re wielding scissors near my head).

For Powergirl, the issue is a surplus of sleep; she’s been under the weather for the last few weeks and has essentially gone into a modified form of hibernation to get well.

For L, sleep developments have taken a different turn. Sure, she’s getting the requisite 12 hours a day. And yes, she’s finally off of England time. But we’ve noticed two new problems that smack of an early arrival into toddlerhood.

• All of a sudden, it has become impossible to “transfer” a sleeping L from the car seat into her crib. We used to be able to do this without a peep. Now, however, the very moment we unbuckle her seat, she wakes up and refuses to go down again (no matter how tired she is).
• On some nights—last night included—she has nightmares, and wakes up shrieking like she’s never shrieked before. Eventually, she does calm down and go back to sleep. But to call this development disturbing would be putting it mildly.

Powergirl and I can deal with our own sleep issues. For L’s, however, we need some help.

And so, dear readers, I ask you: Have those of you with children dealt with similar behaviors in your kids? If so, how have you coped? Any input or advice would be appreciated. Thanks in advance for your insight.

But for now, I leave you with this: my first full-length feature in Babytalk magazine.

The story is about language acquisition (as you’ll see in the lead, this is something far different from “learning to talk”). It incorporates personal anecdotes from yours truly and some of you readers. It catalogs advice from experts. And it offers some suggestions for how readers can help their children acquire (and love!) language at an early age.

I worked incredibly hard on the piece and am particularly proud of it. Please read it, pass it along, and feel free to comment here. Thanks.

Literally. As in, she says, “Scared, scared,” and clutches me for dear life.

I wrote about the very first time this happened; it pertained to the garbage truck (which previously was a source of great joy). Since then, it’s been happening a bit more frequently.

The most recent installment came today, and revolved around the process of getting in and out of the car seat in my truck. As I was taking her out of the truck for brunch today, L wiggled about and accidentally bonked her head on the doorjam. She didn’t cry. She didn’t even flinch, really. But the experience must have scarred her, because after our meal she refused to go back in.

Ultimately, it took two or three minutes of pleading to get her to stop whimpering and clutching my shoulder for dear life. She repeated the episode at our next stop in town (despite the promise of a visit to her beloved fountain in the plaza).

In the scheme of things, these developments aren’t really causes for alarm. Still, I certainly don’t want her to be a scaredy cat, and I certainly don’t want to enable irrational fears.

Any suggestions? I’m all ears.

When we “meddle” in her newfound solo-living, she’s also content expressing her frustration with a slap. Naturally, this has become a relatively serious problem.

For me, the issue is all about a response. On the one hand, I don’t really enjoy yelling at L. On the other hand, she needs to know that slapping is never OK, no matter who she’s slapping or why she’s slapping them (except, maybe, if the person is intending to hurt her, but that’s another story completely).

To this point, I’ve taken to speaking firmly against the slapping. On some occasions, I’ll also just walk away, setting her down (if she’s in my arms when the slap occurs) or leaving her in her high chair while I go and do something else.

For those of you parents who’ve been there and done this before, what do these slaps mean, and what is the “right” way for dealing with them?

Enquiring and neurotic minds want to know.

Previously, the approach involved opening the victim’s airway first, starting mouth-to-mouth breathing and doing chest compressions last. Now, however, the AHA says that cardiopulmonary resuscitation should begin with forceful chest compressions to keep the blood circulating through the body.

Perhaps more important, the AHA says that people who haven’t been trained in CPR need not bother with providing air-passage clearance and mouth-to-mouth breathing at all.

Apparently these decisions are the byproduct of several large studies over the past five years. These studies have found that skipping the first two steps and going straight to chest compressions yields better survival rates for people who suffer cardiac arrest. Experts think that by discouraging the average citizen from giving mouth-to-mouth emergency treatment, more people will be willing to provide CPR to strangers.

Still, as a parent of a young child, I’ve got to ask: Is the new plan best for infants and toddlers who require CPR?

Interestingly, none of the stories on the change report how it potentially could impact CPR for kids. On paper, I suppose, it shouldn’t really make a difference whether the patient is a grown-up or not. Still, I don’t want to risk breaking my daughter’s ribs if I don’t have to.

Also, does this mean I need to get recertified again (re-re-certified?) with the new plan?

Readers, if you see any information about how the new strategy relates to babies, please share. I’ll do the same (perhaps in the form of an article for someone). Thanks.

The scene of this milestone: Santa Rosa Target. The reason: I was too tired to carry her around.

Let’s just say it was a long night. To celebrate, the baby and I spent the morning on a bit of retail therapy.

And celebrate she did. For L, riding in that cart was like a stroller, only better. She was completely mesmerized by the stuff on all the shelves, exclaiming every time she saw something on the packaging she recognized (Dog! Birdie! Flowers!).

She also was quite fond of this package of HALLS honey-lemon cough drops, and must have said the word, “lemon” 718 times.

Most of all, however, because I’m a goofball who pretends ketchup bottles and napkin packages can talk, the baby thoroughly enjoyed watching me as we carted around the store. It’s been almost a year since she faced me in a cart-like transport (Where have you gone, Mrs. Carriage Seat?); I think she appreciated gazing upon the familiar face.

Perhaps the only downside to the new experience was check-out. Usually, I hold the baby and pull the cart down the lane behind us. I tried it that way, but the baby freaked out because she couldn’t see me.

To pacify her, I pulled out of the aisle, and pushed the cart in first. While this calmed the screaming beast (this way, she could look at me), it forced me to reach around her to unload my stuff. In the process, I nailed my funny bone on the candy rack—not once, not twice, but three stinking times.

The bottom line: We survived, and managed to get everything on our list. Still, can any of you kid-in-cart veterans share a better technique?

I won’t give away the farm here, but here are the highlights:

• On the day L and I went to reading group, I was the only dad
• All of the ladies present tried way too hard to make me feel comfortable
• In the process, they creeped me out
• L didn’t like the scene either

If you like the piece enough to read the comments below it, please do, and please feel free to add some of your own. Oh, and if you, like I, think that most of the commenters hated the piece, please don’t feel sorry for me: I learned a long time ago never to take Web comments personally (in my book, the mere fact that people are reading and responding is victory enough).

Thanks for your continued support!

• This piece by Todd Mauldin (courtesy of The Good Men Project) about why he blow-dries his son’s hair.
• Some updated statistics from Brian Reid (aka Rebel Dad) about the number of us at-home dads out there.
• A Newsweek cover story (admittedly about a week old) by Andrew Romano and Dokoupil about the need to “re-imagine” masculinity.

Three very different types of pieces, all. Eager to hear what you think. Enjoy.

Today’s target: Another one of those parents who are such wild sloths that they simply can’t be bothered reining in their kids when the kids are invading others’ space.

Case in point: The scene this morning at our favorite local greasy spoon.

L and I were sitting at our usual table, eating our usual meals (grilled cheese for her; machaca for me) and chatting with the owner when Slothful Sally and her 4-year-old daughter walked in. Sally went straight for a booth two tables away (note the proximity; it’s an important detail), where she proceeded to tune out and scour the menu. Sally Junior made a beeline for L.

All of this attention from Sally Junior wouldn’t have bothered me if the kid had kept an appropriate distance. But the kid came close. Too close. And she had a giant wart on her hand.

(No, dear readers, while I enjoy reading fiction, I swear I don’t make this shit up.)

The first time Sally Junior reached out to touch L, I grabbed L’s hands and muttered something sweetly, like, “Oh, honey, sorry, but my daughter’s hands are sticky from the fruit she’s eating.” The second time, I got a snippier, and declared: “Honey, we’re eating. You should go sit down.”

Finally, when Sally Junior went in to touch my daughter’s cheek, I yelled: “Please leave us alone. Go sit with your mother.”

Now, dear reader, remember the parenthetical phrase in which I told you to note how close the mother was sitting? Well even after I raised my voice to her daughter, Slothful Sally didn’t move a muscle. No apologies. No dirty looks. Not even a curse muttered under her breath. The slothful beast did and said nothing. It was vexing, to say the least.

And totally not Sally Junior’s fault.

Still, all day, I’ve been wondering if I could have handled the situation differently. What would you have done? To what extent have you extended your personal space boundaries to your child? And how difficult do you find it to play the role of disciplinarian when other parents won’t?

I welcome public and private responses. If L gets a wart on her face, I’ll let you know.

Powergirl and I would love to take credit for all of these new words; I’d love to state in this public forum that I’ve read all the literature on teaching babies how to talk and have divined the secret to getting my kid to follow in the footsteps of Doogie Howser, M.D.

The truth, however, is that we have no clue what the hell we’re doing.

Our “strategy” consists of three main ideas:

1) We never talk baby talk to L; we always talk to her like she’s one of the gang.
2) We make it a point of looking at her when we’re talking to her, and make sure she’s looking back (so she can see what our mouths are doing when we speak).
3) When we want her to learn a new word, we state the word while pointing to the object, then point to L and state her name. We repeat this process three times.

Are these steps in the right direction? Are these tactics the experts would endorse? I’m ashamed to admit, folks: I don’t know.

In fact, for two educated people who pride themselves on reading tons of research before doing just about anything involving our child, my wife and I have been remarkably negligent in following the experts on this one.

And so I ask you: What are we doing wrong? What research and/or books should we be reading that we haven’t read? How should we approach the process differently? Furthermore, for all of you parents who have tried the whole baby-sign-language thing, to what extent does it really work?

I may be a blogger, but I don’t ever purport to know it all. Enlighten me. Please. (And who knows, maybe I’ll write a story about this sometime…HINT HINT.)