Once the mouth is open wide, move your baby closer. Do not move your breast toward the baby, and don’t push your baby’s head into your breast. And be… - Heidi Murkoff

Still unsure if you’ve bundled your little bundle just right? Don’t check his hands for confirmation. A baby’s hands and feet are usually cooler than the rest of his body, because of his immature circulatory system. You’ll get a more accurate reading of his comfort by checking the nape of his neck or his arms or trunk (whichever is easiest to reach under his clothing) with the back of your hand. Too cool? Add a layer. Too warm? Peel one off. If he seems extremely cold to the touch, or dangerously overheated, click here.

You know all that stuff they say about becoming a grandmother? How amazing it is … how much you’ll love it … how it’s all the best parts of being a parent — without the sleep deprivation? Well, they don’t tell you the half it. Becoming a grandmother, as I did on February 12, 2013, when Lennox entered the world, and minutes later, my welcoming arms, was life-changing, mind-blowing, heart-swelling … thrilling to the core. The heavens opened up. The earth moved. The love that washed over me as I held that sweet bundle for the first time was instantaneous, it was intense, it was unabashed … it hit me like a ton of bricks, and practically knocked me off my feet. I was smitten.

Crying it out. Also known as Ferberizing (named for Dr. Richard Ferber), the method works like this: At bedtime, while your child is sleepy but still awake, put him in the crib, give a gentle pat, a soft “I love you,” and then leave the room. Cue the crying (you knew it was coming). And here’s where the going gets tough: Let your tot cry for a full five minutes (it’ll seem much longer). Then go back in and repeat the original routine — a quick pat, a gentle “good night,” and go. Repeat this process for as long as your little guy cries, extending the time you leave him alone by about five minutes each time until he falls asleep. Stretch the times your child spends on his own by a few more minutes the second night, and again on the third. You can expect the crying jags to diminish steadily over three nights, and — drumroll, please — virtually disappear somewhere between the fourth and seventh night, replaced perhaps by a bit of fussing or a short burst of tears. The next sound you’re likely to hear? Nothing . . . except maybe a tiny snore.