03.09.06
Bedtime at our house is a disaster. When Little Miss was oh so tiny I couldn’t sleep for staring at her. Watching her breathe and sigh, staring at the dark feathers her eyelashes made against her cheeks …
The only time I see eyelash feathers against her cheeks these days is in the car when I’m horrified to find her asleep. If she falls asleep in the car no one gets a nap at home. Including me. I’ve developed paranoid nervous tic trying to keep her awake in the car.
Bedtime, though, is a much bigger issue. It goes like this:
“Miss, it’s pajama time.”
“Soon,” she says.
“Now.” I hold up her pj’s. Sometimes I hum few bars of MC Hammer and end with “It’s Jamma time!” Then I grab her and wrestle her into her pajamas.
I get the sippy cup of juice (yeah, I know it’s bad for her teeth, but sleep deprived Mommy is bad for her life –I choose the lesser of two evils). I herd her up the stairs, “March! 2-3-4!” She giggles the whole way.
We read a story. I tuck her in and turn on her music. She gets out of bed to close the door so she can see the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. She wiggles around and makes sure her babies, flashlight, blankie, and juice are ‘just so.’ I give her a kiss and say “Sleep tight.”
I get to the door and she yells, “Cuddle me!”
At this point when Dad’s in charge he says, “What, are you goofy?” and he goes downstairs and she goes to sleep. If I say that she laughs hysterically and then screams for an hour.
“Ok, I’ll cuddle you for a little bit.”
This might be a good place to say that my kid never stops talking. EVER. If she has nothing to say she’ll happily settle for “Mommy, Mom, Mommy, Mommy, Mom, Mom” ad infinitum. While I’m cuddling her (or trying to, at least) she runs a non-stop monologue. “Light on stars, Mom. Light on Fish. Light on you, Mom, light on my fingers now! Need my juice. Light on my pajamas. Need door open now.” She clambers over me and opens the door so the hall light illuminates the room. Comes back to the bed and clambers over me again.
“Boom-boom on my new bed!” She starts jumping on the bed.
I’m getting irritated. “I’m going downstairs because I only cuddle little girls who are trying to go to sleep.”
She crashes down beside me and grabs her blankie. “Pacifier, Mom, need pacifier.”
I’m flabbergasted. “Since when do you need a pacifier? You’re two years old.”
“Okay, need to kiss you, Mom, Kiss your cheek. Kiss your nose, Mom. I threw your nose – go get it! Need to close door now.”
I need to be done with this. “I’ll cuddle for one more minute, than I’m going downstairs and you need to go to sleep.”
“Okay, Mom.”
After a minute I whisper, “Sleep tight,” and she says, “Okay.”
I escape downstairs. Me time. Yay!
From upstairs I hear, “I need milk, Mom. Need Milk. Milk Mom,” which I can ignore, thinking tough luck, kid, go to sleep.
Five minutes later, “Mom! I pooped! Need change! Need change, Mommy,” and she starts to wail.
Every single night. I swear she holds one in reserve on purpose to lure me upstairs so she can start the whole “cuddle me” fiasco all over again.
Did I mention she wakes up and cries for me two or three times a night still?
Sigh. Sometimes you sleep. I never do.
To read the Bedtime Blues from the Reader Weekly archives click below:
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