Hush little baby

As I implied in a previous post, Declan is becoming rather difficult to put to bed at night.  He's pretty darned good from Supper Time right through until Snuggle Time.  After, not so good. 

I put his last book down, look compassionately in his eyes and share with him the simple fact that it's pushing Bed Time, and why don't we go and get his pyjamas.

He starts off passive enough.

"Uhhh, nope."

I ignore this and walk to his bedroom to pull a pair of PJs from the hanger.  He gets a litte recalcitrant at this point, dropping sharply towards disgruntled in short order.  Though he still looks adorable in his PJs and blue terry-cloth bathrobe.  He counts the kisses he gives his mom but picks up speed in the same way an outdoor busker's audience does when asked to clap in rhythm.  His rapid-fire smooching sometimes yield the result of a head-butt on Mom's nose.  I'm sure Declan thinks it's tears of unbridled love for her son in his mother's eyes.

Tucked under his layers of bath towel, hand-stitched-by-arthritic-grandmother-quilt, and then a garishly coloured comforter, he's normally read two stories in bed.  It's when the second is closed that things start to get ugly.  I put away the book, turn off his bedside light and he gets this terror-stricken look in his face like somehow my presence in his room is the only thing holding some horrible spectre at bay.

He leans up and points at the floor beside his bed: "Daddy seep too?  Pwease?"  When he sometimes wakes crying in the wee hours I'll come and breathe loudly beside his bed until he (and often I) drifts off to sleep.  Now he wants it to get him to sleep.

I don't want to make a habit of him needing me to get to sleep, so I close the lead shielding around my heart, kiss him once, say goodnight, turn around and leave the room, closing the door behind me.  Every night the past week, he's died a thousand horrible deaths behind that door after being flayed, drawn and quartered, and poked in each eye with a sharp stick.

The worst was Saturday when he went on for fully 20 minutes without ramping down.  I did the dishes and tidied the living room to distract myself.  When the sound of his voice changed, I realised he was sprawled out on the floor and pleading through the crack at the bottom of the door, jamming books against it in a vain effort to get me to read to him.

"One moh storeeeeeee... Dadeeeee... pweeeeaaase!"
"Snuggle... pwease!"

I swept up the shattered remnants of my hardened heart and went to rescue my firstborn.  When I opened his door, I was careful not to smack him in the head, still lying down.

He had stripped the covers from his bed, taken off his bathrobe, removed his pants for some reason and stood there sobbing, tears and snot making four wet trails down his red face, each hand clutching a Disney Babies book thrust out to me with arms rigid in supplication.

I redressed him and cuddled him exhaustedly - and quickly - to sleep on the couch.  He woke again the instant I put him back in bed, but his plaintive wails only lasted five minutes before petering out.

*sigh*

Sunday night was headed the same way.  Thankfully, my wife was home (she was sitting for a friend's toddler on Saturday so they could go see Cirque du Soleil) and she suggested that we get the Jack Russell to sleep with the boy.

Enter Jango the Jack, close the door before he can get out and see what happens.

There was some minor sobbing, a faintly heard, "Puppeeeee... bed pwease," and then nothing.

Free from his kennel at night, Jango found solace by providing it to our boy.  And we managed to scrape a little together for ourselves as well.

Comments

[Grampa]

It is good to see that at least one of your poor, ignored high-energy canines has found a useful purpose. I see the beginnings of one of those time honoured family traditions of 'the boy and his dog' relationship. Be sure to prepare him for the eventual heart wrenching sorrow he will have for his newly departed "best friend" in the years to come. Actually a very good, but poignant, life lesson to learn at an early age.

Keep us informed.

[fv]

We endured this during the first year but now Ben goes unconscious nearly the instant his head hits the bed. That first year was tough though. If you're ever dying on the street begging for mercy, pray it's not me walking by.

[Simon]

It's always been the tactful empathy you express in your comments, fv, that I appreciate most. I'm gonna give you such a noogie next month.

[Moksha Gren]

I'm beginning to realize that this is to be the greatest balancing act in parenting. Short-term vs. Long-term solutions. So temping to take the easy road and do whatever it is that you know will solve the issue quickly. So terrifying that once you've set that pattern...you'll be stuck with it for quite some time.

My wife and I are only beginning to struggle with this balance, but it seems clear that the battle will not be a brief one.

[Simon]

I think, Moksha, you've hit the nail on the head. Or one of the nails anyway. Just a short way in myself and I'm convinced it's a life-long balancing act. Train yourself now to go for the long-term goal and it may not seem so daunting when they're teenagers.

[TerriTorial]

Wow..you hang jammies. My Mom would be so impressed! I roll our in a ball and toss them in their jammie drawers.

I lucked out with my son, he goes to bed like a dream. It's my daughter who has given me issues right from a baby. We've got it down to no night light, radio on, door open a crack, and a promise to check on her "Toes and Fingers" Meaning 10 times before I go to bed.

[Mark]

Yeah, that's a tough one. Once they are no longer in a crib and can get out of bed (and possibly hurt themselves), it's harder to just let them wail like that. But, they still love you the next morning. With all they've got.

Our Ben's trick is to keep saying, "Daddy (or Mommy), I need something." This came from our question we asked, once, a long time ago, "Do you need something?"

He did the more books thing like Declan for a while, but now it's the songs we sing after his reading time.

Okay, I must stop now. I feel a post coming on.

[Paula]

For what it's worth, my kids have always been given the 'privilege' of reading in bed for as long as they like - no getting out of bed or playing, but they may read to their heart's content. This while they were still getting stories, and now that they aren't. It's never been abused, they just stop when they're tired enough. Now Declan's mostly using the books as a way into a snuggle (he's knows your weakness!), but maybe you can direct him to the awesome privilege of 'reading' by himself in bed (and maybe to Jango).

[fv]

Sorry, Si. If parenthood has taught me anything, it's that mercy is weakness. Children are like water and rules are the levees. A leak becomes a breach in short order. I take Leiningen versus the Ants as my guide.

Aside to people who don't know me: I'm joking. Well, mostly.

[Tasha]

Despite my dear husband's claim to a stone heart, he's actually not so stoic when faced with a screaming child at bedtime. Thankfully, Ben has learned that lesson. For now. Until the "real bed" comes, I suspect. Sigh...

[Rick]

"...close the lead shielding around my heart..." Beautifully writtten, Simon. That catches it perfectly.

Lead is pretty soft though for a protective shield, isn't it?

[marian]

Well, I wasn't going to admit this, but I'm two sheets to the wind. I read (past tense of reed) to my son, and lay with him til he fell asleep, pretty much every night until he was around 10 years old. I had lost the fight. I had no Jango, and I gave in. I CAVED. But even in dire circumstances like mine, the child GROWS UP and no longer wants you in their room, let alone their bed! Eventually!

[violet]

After about a year of being a non-sleeping, non-napping baby, my daughter is finally sleeping through the night without any battles (naps are still iffy). And I'm not looking forward to fresh sleep troubles like you've had.

[the Mater]

This still goes on at Jenn's house too ... and the girls are almost 3 and 5 1/2. They will find almost any excuse or reason to keep one of us near them at bedtime.

Telling a story often becomes the never-ending story.

Your description of Dec when you opened the door tugged at my heart. Hope puppy power saves the day!