HABIT CRYING
By the frequent repetition of actions, habits are formed. When the baby is two or three days old, he is so new to us and we have waited for him so long, and it is such a great big world that he has come into, that we jump, dance, and scramble to attend to his every need and adequately to provide for his every want. At this very early, tender age whenever he opens his mouth to cry or even murmur—some fond auntie or some overly indulgent caretaker flies to his side as if she had been shot out of a gun, grabs him up and ootsey tootsey's him about as she endeavors to entertain and quiet him. The next time and the next time and the succeeding time he whimpers—like a flash someone dashes to the side of the basket, and baby soon learns that when he opens his mouth and yells, somebody comes. In less than a week the mischief has been done and baby is badly spoiled. No other factor enters so largely into the sure "spoiled" harvest as picking a new baby up every time he cries. Often in the early days some indulgent parent will say, "Oh, don't turn out the light, something might happen to the dear little thing"—and old Mother Nature sees to it that a constant repetition of "leaving the light on" brings its sure harvest of "he just won't go to sleep without the light." And then, "just once" he had the pacifier—perhaps to prevent his crying disturbing some sick member of the family—and so we go on and on. If a thing is bad, it is bad, and a supposedly good excuse will not lessen the evil when the habit has been thus started and acquired.
The rocking of babies to sleep may be a beautiful portrayal of mother love, but we all pity the child who has to be rocked to sleep as much as we do the mother who sits and rocks, wanting, Oh, so much! to do some work or go for a walk—but she must wait till baby goes to sleep.