Losing Bedtime Battles

It’s hard for me to go to bed tonight. Both boys are sleeping soundly in their beds. It’s not very often that I find myself awake with both kids asleep. They usually put up their fists and assume their best defensive postures before heading to bed. Atrain’s battle tactics take the form of frequent bathroom expeditions now-a-days. Jdog fights tooth (well, gum) and nail to stay in my arms at bedtime. He is four months old now, so we’re supposed to start “sleep training.” We’re trying, but I’m not a very good teacher. I know, I know Dr. Weissbluth…self-soothing is a very important skill for my baby to learn. I know that healthy sleep habits=happy, smart babies. I just have a hard time leaving him crying alone in his crib. He’ll only be this little for so long. The nights he wants me to snuggle him to sleep are numbered. So maybe my kids will end up being unhappy and dumb, but at least they will know they are loved.

Because I spend many of my nights soothing Jdog to sleep, his bedtime often becomes my bedtime. When this happens it’s hard to ignore the part of me that feels a little cheated out of a few productive, quiet night hours. Then I remind myself that my days as the most important woman in their lives are numbered. So, when I see that my boy’s bedtime battle strategies are starting to overwhelm my defenses…it’s ok to accept defeat, climb into bed, and cuddle. This phase of soothing little ones to sleep (then sneaking out of bed at midnight to find a quiet spot for my mind to mellow) are marked. And I don’t want to miss any of it.

Oedipus Complex

Atrain is the best staller around. Whenever he’s on track for bedtime he always finds a way to get derailed. After brushing his teeth tonight he insisted on getting a drink. I said ok, expecting him to hoist himself up to the faucet. But, of course he needs a cup—so he gets a measuring cup. Then dada needs a drink—but no mom, not from the measuring cup—he has to fill up dada’s pitcher. I giggle at his antics and then pull the stop.

So then we’re in his room, talking about tonight and tomorrow, just like we do every night. “It’s momma and Atrain’s special day tomorrow—no school, we get to stay home together!” I say. “Dada too?” he asks. “No, Dada still has to go to school tomorrow,” I explain. A disappointed expression grows on his face, then he changes the course of the conversation. “When baby J grows bigger and bigger, then he can sleep in my room?” he asks. (We talked about this last night). “Yep, you’re right Atrain—Jdog will sleep in your bed and you get to sleep in the bunk!” He smiles and his eyes grow bigger than quarters. “Then,” he continues with the same excited expression, “When I grow even taller and taller, then I can sleep in your room!” It takes me a minute to follow his train of thought and he sees my confusion, so he continues, “Taller like dada?” I smile bigger than I have all day. I guess my room is the top of the totem pole. Words can’t explain how much I love this kid. “You’re right Atrain, when you’re tall like dada then you can sleep in my room.” I lie with all my heart. When he’s that old he won’t want to anyway. I’ll soak it up while I can.