The Baby Whisperer

Despite never having children of my own, people love leaving their children with me.

Maybe it's my trustworthy nature. Maybe it's my childbearing hips. More than likely, it's that the parents are so exhausted and desperate for a night out that they'd leave them with anyone who was available.

This is how I found myself caring for a two month old chubster on Saturday night.

Don't you just love babies whose thighs are so big that you could actually park a Smart Car in them?

Baby Max is the kind of baby that everyone wants -- cute, smiley and cuddlesome.

When he cries -- which is usually when he wants something concrete like a diaper change, another meal, or you to sing every verse you can remember of the Solid Gold theme song -- he's usually pretty easy to console.

But sometimes he just cries without reason. An incessant waa, waa waa that is heartbreaking. That's the thing that drives new Moms the craziest.

Here's something I discovered by accident, but which seems to work for Max and other babies his age.

It's Om. The Buddhist Om.

Chant it like the monks chant it. Nice and slow. Om from your diaphragm. Add "Om mani padme hum" if you're comfortable.

It tends to stop babies in their tracks. I think there must be something primordial about it.

When I chanted Om to Max, he stopped crying, looked at me....and smiled.

I know it sounds a little whacky, so I told his Mom.

And she emailed me this morning, "Oh my God, you really are the baby whisperer. The Om worked."

There you go.

My gift to you.

Jet Lag

You can see why sleep deprivation is a favourite among torturers.

A few day after my return from Vietnam, I find myself continuing to nod off at 6:30 p.m. and wide awake watching Oprah on PVR at 2:30 a.m.

I figure eventually -- like some time in 2011 -- I should return to a regular routine.

Any tips?