Sometimes [and it is only sometimes] my kiddos exasperate the hell out of me. I mean, we have a two-year-old. It comes with the territory, so I try not to let my ire rise too far out of control.
Right now, our battles over bedtime have hit a new crazy high. We combined the kiddos together in what was Sophia’s old room back in December. For a week, it was a novelty. Gabe thought it was awesome to share space with the big kid, because he after all is a big kid himself. He napped, he went to bed, they didn’t fight [too much] – Dr. M and I high-fived each other and walked away with a smidge of gloat on our shoulders.
Then, Week Two. Now the entity that is my bonkers son refuses to nap easily, sometimes skipping days and making our evenings hellish. The messes he/they made were ridiculous. The fights over the shared items in the room could be heard from the street.
And the nights – oh goodness, the nights. I’ll give them some leniency regarding their behavior this week, considering we’re adjusting from awesome-times-it-was-amazing-to-stay-up-late-every-night-during-vacation to boring, old school [in the words of Sophia]. Still, we’re leaning into the ridiculous over here. Last night, they pushed bedtime back to 9 o’clock, in the name of extra bathroom runs, request for milk, and [specifically from the toddler] loud spurts of crying for … well, anything. Mama, Dada, milk, water, crackers, more books. You get the picture.
We were at the end of our rope, not to mention it was my own dang bedtime. [Yes, pregnant women who have to get up at 5:30 go to bed at 9. No judging.] Finally, they were officially settled, they slept and I headed off to bed.
I went in this morning to get their day started, and this, sweet friends, is what I see. Oh goodness …
What you may not initially see is Sophia’s head at the top, mostly buried under her pillow. According to her, he snuck over there after she had gone to bed, curled up with the duck quilt, and put himself to bed. Whatever works, friend, what works.