One day in late June, I became a completely different person: I downloaded an astrology app on my phone. For most people in my milieu, asking an acquaintance their sun sign is a fairly standard way of getting to know each other. For me, a self-described astrology hater, though, it’s a huge departure from the norm.
But when an editor at Slate reached out to see if I’d be interested in writing about an astrology app specifically for parenting, I jumped at the chance. My son, M., age 21 months, is nearly a perfect baby: He’s generally always happy; he eats well; he is a hit at parties, restaurants, and even synagogue; and he goes to sleep in his crib without a fuss or a fight. But lately he’s been waking up at 4 a.m. every single day, even though nothing else in his life has seemed to change. By 6 a.m., we’re already out the door, trying to find an open coffee shop, and I am losing my mind.
My editor doesn’t know this, but my goal for this little experiment is more sleep. I already believe in God. What’s a little astrology? The problem is that I’ve long been averse to astrology, which my friends say is “very Virgo” of me. And it’s true—I am a Virgo, and I hate to admit it, but I relate deeply to what are considered Virgo traits. I’m type A to a fault, a perfectionist who keeps a daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly to-do list for everything from my job to household chores to things I want my husband to do for me. I’m reliable and loyal, and I’m also controlling and a worrier.
My son was due at the end of September, and while I wanted him to be born a little early because I thought it would make delivery easier (spoiler: nothing makes it easier besides the blessed epidural!), I also didn’t want him to be a Virgo like me. This is probably the first time I’m admitting this out loud, but I didn’t want him to have the same problems as me, like obsessive focus and micromanaging and anxiety around just about everything. I wanted him to be what he turned out to be: a Libra. I wanted him to be confident, charming, balanced. Even though I know astrology isn’t real, I just wanted to cover all my bases.
Friday: The app, which is called STAR/CHILD, lets me know that “the Sun enters Cancer today,” aka it’s Cancer season, baby! (I’m just repeating what I see on all my friends’ Instagram stories.) The app also tells me that my kid “will kinda be at the mercy of their feelings,” a prospect that is shocking to me as a parent of a young toddler. I imagine that this will be a stark departure from his previous commitment to logic and reason.
Although we’re happily using STAR/CHILD and giving it our best shot, we are also feeding M. a snack right before bedtime, in case hunger was the impetus for the 4 a.m. wake-ups and in case the app doesn’t positively affect our parenting enough to make him sleep later. Last night, my husband fed him french fries and ice cream after his normal dinner, right before bed (lucky kid!). Readers should keep these two concurrent experiments in mind as they assess the efficacy of the app.
The morning went smoothly: M. blessedly woke up in his crib around 6 a.m., his “normal” and totally bearable wake-up time. I got him from his crib and brought him into our room, where he nursed and snuggled for a while, got a new diaper without much drama, and played with his Magna-Tiles before eating breakfast, which was half a cinnamon roll and a sliced banana. He went to day care happily—he loves knocking on the door all by himself—but he has an early dismissal at noon, which is usually when his nap starts.
As any current or former toddler parent who read the previous paragraph could have expected, he was asleep when I arrived at day care to pick him up. I put him in his crib when we got home, in the hope that he’d fall back asleep and have a mostly normal nap. I left him there for (redacted) minutes—I don’t need anyone telling me I didn’t let him “cry it out” for long enough or that I’m cruel for letting him “cry it out” at all—then, admitting defeat, got him from his room so we could sit on the couch and eat watermelon together. He ended up having a slightly later nap, which means a slightly later bedtime, but had an otherwise average day. Yes, he was at the mercy of his feelings—he had a meltdown when my husband tried to read him the book that M. had demanded he read—but I am nearly certain that that has more to do with his age than with where the sun and moon are located.
Saturday: I wake up and check STAR/CHILD. This is my life now: The app has seamlessly gone into the morning rotation with Wordle, Connections, and Spelling Bee. This morning, the app let me know that “your kids are probably not sleeping great, but whatever—neither are you.” How does STAR/CHILD know? Is it because many young children sleep poorly, or is it because it’s a full moon? Who can say? But it’s right, of course: It’s a little after 5 a.m., and we’re moaning and groaning, deciding which one of us will bring M. into bed with us. (It’s me.)
But outside of the early wake-up, it was a perfect Saturday. We drove to the Jersey Shore for a day at the beach. STAR/CHILD tells me that M. is “probably feeling extremely sensitive right now, particularly around their deep-seated fears or their intrinsic need for alone time.” He was afraid of the ocean, but he did not want to be alone; in fact, he clung to me for dear life as the waves went in and out. We got lunch after we left, and he slept in my arms the entire time—I ate my sandwich with one hand.
For dinner, we fed him a giant bowl of leftover pasta and chocolate ice cream as a snack. Prayers up for a late wake-up tomorrow!
Sunday: M. wakes up at 5:30, but my husband doesn’t get him until 6. (Sundays are my day to sleep in.) When I finally do wake up, I check STAR/CHILD, which tells me: “Today’s astrology looks pretty dreamy and inspiring for your kid. Whether they’re sketching on the living room floor or blasting some fun music as they clean their bedroom, they’ll probably be more inclined to get creative or mix up their usual weekend routine.” I don’t think the app understands that my son is not yet 2 years old and doesn’t have a “usual weekend routine” to mix up—and certainly doesn’t clean his own room. No matter: I like the idea of today being dreamy and inspiring. We head to the Phillies game in 100-degree heat and pray no one dies. M. skips his nap because he’s too excited about “ball” (his most used word besides Mama) but falls asleep on the way home and is still asleep at 5:30, dangerously close to bedtime. By 9 p.m. (yikes!), he’s finally asleep in his crib, holding his new ball.
Monday: M. wakes up at 5, but before I get him, I check STAR/CHILD: “What a breezy little Monday morning we have here. The overall vibes are buoyant, expressive, and inspired.” I’ve got to strongly disagree with the app here—I’m exhausted, and my husband forgot to make coffee before he left for work. No problem: M. and I have a sweet morning together before he goes to day care. His teacher texts me a photo of him asleep on the floor at 10 a.m., two hours before his scheduled nap time. STAR/CHILD tells me, “Tonight, though, things could get a bit tense at home,” but our night is actually really nice and easy, and he’s asleep in his crib by 7:30.
Tuesday: M. wakes up at 6—hooray! STAR/CHILD says: “TBH, today’s astrology looks fairly quiet for your kid. If anything, they might be feeling a little more sociable or intellectually driven than usual—maybe they’ll come to you with some big, profound questions about the world, and you’ll end up talking through something deep.” The app is obviously skewed toward parenting older kids—my son does not yet know how to formulate a question, unless “Ball?” counts.
Wednesday: Back to the 5 a.m. wake-up. Zombielike, I get M. into the stroller, and we walk for miles. I push him with one hand while reading STAR/CHILD with the other: “Go easy on your kid today—there’s a lot simmering beneath the surface for them right now.” I tear up, probably because I’m sleep-deprived, but it’s also a legitimately helpful reminder. I know that M. is just a baby and his waking up early isn’t to make my life harder—it’s because the moon is waxing or the stars are doing something crazy or something else astrological that I don’t understand. Just kidding. Or am I!
Thursday: Again with the 5 a.m. wake-up. I look to STAR/CHILD for advice or comfort, or perhaps it’s just a Pavlovian response now. The app tells me that the moon is in Pisces all day, “which is lovely during cancer season because Pisces and cancer are both water signs, so our sensitivity is dialed up, our sense of compassion is dialed up, our sense of wanting to be protective and nurturing and hunker down at home and be very tapped into our intuition … as parents, that’s a real superpower on any given day.” I’m not sure why, but this sends me into a rage. “This isn’t an ‘essential parenting toolkit’! It’s just psychobabble!!!” I fume to my husband. Or maybe I’m just exhausted.
When my husband picks him up from day care in the afternoon, M.’s teacher informs him that he did not nap at all today. Instead, he spent his time trying to pull his friends’ hair so they’d wake up too. My intuition (thanks, STAR/CHILD!) tells me that M. is going to be overtired tonight, keeping the (lack of) sleep cycle going indefinitely.
Instead of hunkering down at home, like the app says we’ll want to do, we have dinner at a friend’s place. M. has a great time—we all do—but he doesn’t go to sleep until shortly after 9 p.m.
Friday: M. wakes up at 6, which is amazing, even if it means he didn’t get enough sleep. He has a normal morning before day care, and we pick him up early, interrupting his nap. We got him before our normal time because we’re heading to the beach for the weekend! STAR/CHILD says that we should “show your kids that it’s okay to revisit tough topics, to make amends, and that being honest and vulnerable is how you make relationships stronger and feel safer.” We try to be vulnerable on the way to the beach—literally, I tell my husband, “Let’s talk about our feelings so we can model it for M.”—but he sleeps the entire two-hour-plus car ride to my mom’s house. We put him to bed a little late so he can see his aunt and uncle when they arrive, and unfortunately he has a hard time falling asleep—probably because he’s not at home and he can hear us having a fun time without him. (He has FOMO, just like me.) But eventually he goes down, and the adults play Rummikub and drink beer.
Saturday: M. is up slightly after 6. I don’t feel super stressed about the day because we’re on vacation and because there are six adults here to pay attention to him and make sure he’s happy. Still, like a rat in a cage, I check STAR/CHILD (after winning Wordle in three and making no mistakes in Connections—not to brag). The app tells me to “do something new or exciting with your kid … like exploring a beach they’ve never been to before” and that I should “expect to see a more playful, adventurous side of them shine through today.”
My son is basically always trying to find new ways to hurt himself—some may call it “adventurous,” we call it “suicidal,” but OK. And today is no different: We do go to the beach (planned before I opened the app, but still), and he’s absolutely delighted by the waves. He runs in and out, alternating between laughing, crying, wanting his feet to be dunked in the water, and begging to be picked up. This isn’t the first time he’s been at the beach, but as he gets older and becomes less potato-like, he’s able to express more emotions: wonder, excitement, joy. I love watching him experience the world.
Ian Bardenstein
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My instinct is to assume he’s becoming more adventurous because he’s getting older, but maybe the app is right and it’s really because of the moon and the stars. As I hold M. amid the waves, I have a tender moment, thinking about this silly little app. Whoever made it is just trying to better connect with their kid—and make $15 a month per user, of course—and I can’t blame them for trying. It doesn’t feel any more cringe to me than, say, Dr. Becky and her “Good Inside” mantra, which I’m sure is nice and correct, but I still have her blocked on Instagram for being too annoying. (My husband has never even heard of Dr. Becky. His Instagram parenting algorithm is all about how he should use beef tallow and zinc as sunscreen.)
I think a lot of parenting advice is mostly BS anyway, and we’re all just trying our best. My parenting “philosophy” is mostly just trying to tire M. out (and feed him enough) so that he sleeps through the night. And he does: His grandmothers put him to bed a little after 7 (date night for Mom and Dad!), and he sleeps until a little after 6 on Sunday.
I know I’ve mostly made fun of STAR/CHILD. But even for an astrology skeptic like me, the app provides some useful parenting support. As a Virgo, I have “perfectionist tendencies,” “obsessive focus,” and a “reluctance to delegate.” (I’m assured I have good qualities too, like being “organized,” “responsible,” a “compassionate giver,” and a “skilled communicator”—thank you, STAR/CHILD!) It’s true that I don’t believe in astrology, but it’s also true that all these descriptors resonate with me. (My issue with astrology is that I feel certain these personality traits don’t exist in all people born between Aug. 23 and Sept. 22.)
STAR/CHILD gives helpful hints about how to make the best of your specific quirks—whether they’re related to your birthday or something else entirely. Reading about the things I might struggle with, I realize I really do not want to micromanage my son or obsess over his safety or future. I want to allow him to make his own mistakes; I don’t want to hover. I do find myself trailing after him sometimes, putting his toys away or wiping up his spills, and thinking about Virgo parents’ supposed obsessive nature has made me decide that maybe I should wait until M. goes to bed to clean up after him—I don’t want to make him self-conscious about doing normal kid things like leaving toys around or dropping food.
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I want to let him be whoever he is—which, according to STAR/CHILD, is “relationship-oriented,” “emotionally intelligent,” and “intellectually curious.” I can’t help but beam with pride when I read about him, even though it’s not only him I’m reading about, but every kid born between Sept. 23 and Oct. 22. The app says: “Libra kids aren’t just young beings learning to strike a balance. They’re complex, multidimensional individuals negotiating a universe of choices and decisions.” I struggle to see how that doesn’t describe all children—all people, really—but still: When I think about the kind of person M. could be as he grows up, I hope he chooses to be “gracious” and “fair-minded,” as Libras are said to be.
STAR/CHILD invites us to “take what resonates from this guide, ditch what doesn’t, and remember, it’s all just a framework for reflection.” This seems like a nice way of saying “This is probably BS, but it’s fun!” and they’re right; it’s always good to reflect. And, hey, ever since I downloaded the app, M. has been sleeping past 4 a.m.
