The one question everyone, and I mean strangers-on-a-train everyone, would ask: “Soooo, how does he sleeeep?”

IT began with my oldest, whose sleeping patterns left much to be desired.

Sleep training? Of course! Ferber all the way, right?

If anything, it made it worse.

But that was the one question everyone, and I mean strangers-on-a-train everyone, would ask: “Soooo, how does he sleeeep?”

In my earnestness, I felt duty bound to be honest. But it eventually dawned on me that there was a direct connection between every inquiry and that night’s ensuing fiasco.

Instead, I tried, “I’m not talking about it,” which excited more comment. I attempted, “Baruch Hashem,” which also instigated continuing chatter. In retrospect, I should have faked a violent coughing fit, which in today’s post-Covid world, would ensure that I’d be left alone very quickly. Or I should have feigned deafness, which seemed to work for my Babby when she had enough of people.

Eventually, my oldest became big enough that no one investigated his sleep patterns anymore. But then they turned to his brother.

They didn’t come for his sleep, though. They came for his food.

“Is he a good eater?” Undoer of My Sanity innocently asked, and I stupidly — how could I have been so stupid? — said, “He’s pretty okay.”

From that moment on he no longer qualified as “a pretty okay eater.”