I’m laying on my daughters single bed with her while she lays with her head at my feet and jams her toes in my butt.
Bedtime is my least favourite time of day.
It was going good for a couple of months and then Christmas holidays arrived and she got an ear infection which changed the delicate routine that we had painstakingly put into place.
We would take her to her room, she would pick out pjs and a story, we would read, and read one more time, and then snuggle in. I would lay beside her and within minutes she would be out.
The evening was mine.
Enter Christmas holidays and ear infection and there’s a whole new game being played.
“Can I stay up just a little longer?”
“I can’t sleep, I need to see daddy.”
“Tell me about those three men with baby Jesus.”
There’s so much negotiating from the four year old.
She loves me so much and with sugar on top.
But only if she can stay up.
And then she cries. And cries. And cries.
Because bedtime has become her nemesis.
I feel her foot fall away from my butt cheek and her whining go from loud to pouting to silence.
She’s fallen asleep hugging my ankle.
There is no chapter on this in the baby books.
“Child will ram foot up ass in attempt to stay up later.”
No. This stuff you find out on your own after holidays, infections, and all nighters.
You find this out after your child repeats a conversation you had with your husband, pulls tampons out of your purse, or barfs all over Walmart.
But you do it.
Without blinking. You do it.
It comes with the territory and you take it as it comes.
And we would do it all over again.
Yes. Even the barf.