Bedtime

When Husband travels (and he does so frequently), the Child reacts in two ways: by being an absolute pain in the ass the entire time or by being a pure angel. This trip, he was in the latter category. Or so I thought—until tonight.

Ever since we moved him from a crib to a "big boy" bed in mid January, his night-time routine seems to have extended to last roughly an eternity.

1. Read books
2. Brush teeth
3. Use the potty
4. Put on jammies
5. Lights off
6. Tell a story
7. Sing a song
8. No, two songs
9. No, four songs
10. Rub back
11. Two more times
12. Rub belly
13. Don’t forget to say "ding" when finished rubbing belly
14. Lay down for "one minute"
15. Tuck in
16. Say night-night, sweet dreams
17. Walk out but leave the door cracked open

Mind you, six weeks ago, this routine ended at step #6. But more than that, over the last month, he has absolutely mastered the skills of stalling. And this has added the following steps.

18. Can I have some water? (I usually give in to this, but only once)
19. Can I have a snack? (No way, dude)
20. I need to go potty. (I gave in to this one a few times, but there is always “nothing coming” since step #3 took place just half an hour ago)
21. I need someone to sleep with me (see response to #19)
22. I want a truck/engine/train tracks/Pooh bear/polar bear/puppy/you-name-it to sleep with me. (I usually try a preemptive strike on this one and ask him which toy he wants in bed before I proceed to step 17)
23. I need a book. (Usually ignored)
24. I am too hot/I don’t like these pajamas. (See response to #23)
25. I am too cold/I need someone to cover me. (See response to #23)
26. I am not tired. (See response to #23)

Not all of these happen every night. But at least three or four are a pretty sure bet.

Tonight, however, I did the unthinkable. I skipped steps 7 through 9. I tried #7, but my choice of song was dismissed, so I said, "Fine, no songs then." He seemed fine with it. We finished the routine, and I rushed off because the phone was ringing—and it was the said traveling husband, who usually doesn’t have much opportunity to chat while he is traveling. So I really wanted to get the phone. And then, my angel was no longer an angel.

Of the two of us, I am usually the parent who gives in more easily. I tend to discipline less. And therefore, I get taken advantage of much more. I have really struggled with this last summer because my feelings were hurt so often (how strange is it that a two-year-old can hurt a grown woman’s feelings...). So I am really trying to change that. I mean, I still want to be me—I want to be a mom who comforts and loves, but I want to be treated with respect. So I am more firm. I follow through on my word. And I think we have a much better relationship now (plus, being out of the terrible twos really helps).

So tonight, when stalling attempts continued, I didn’t give in. After being turned down for every request, the Child remembered that I didn’t sing a song. And when I said no, oh, the flood gates opened. At first he cried and wailed, but when he realized that he was being ignored, he got mad. He screamed. And screamed. His requests were getting more and more unreasonable. This went on for roughly 30 minutes. 30 looooooooooooong minutes. I finally couldn’t stand listening to this any longer, so I opened the door and told him that if he wanted the fire truck, he could get up and get it since it was right at the foot of his bed. "But I will be too cold," he said. What the fuck? "Child, you get your fire truck or stop crying." So he did. He got the fire truck. And then he flung it across the room.

And that’s where I snapped. I yelled at him. Got right in his face and yelled at him. And right away, I knew I was wrong. I am not a yelling type. I don’t believe in yelling or spanking or biting back when the child bites you or any of that bullshit. I disagree with that wholeheartedly. Abusive behavior is not the lesson you want your child to learn. So I hated myself for yelling. He started screaming even louder, so I walked out and closed the door—for my sake, not his. It was my way of putting myself in timeout. What I forgot was that this went against step #17 ("walk out and leave the door cracked open"). And so he continued to flip out of the next 15 minutes because of that. During this time, I was trying to decide whether going back there would be giving in. He finally cried so much that he started coughing and gagging, and I could not stand it any longer. I gave in. I went upstairs and opened the door. As soon as the door was open, he stopped. He saw me standing in the doorway, lied down and buried his face in the pillow, away from me. I waited a few moments, then sat down next to him. I told him that I was sorry for yelling and that I yelled because he made me mad, but that was the wrong thing to do. He told me I made him sad. And he was smiling. We said our goodnights, and that was it.

So did I fail twice tonight? I know I failed because I yelled. That was wrong. But did I also give in in the end? His happy smile at the end—that’s what puzzled me. Was he so happy because he got his way? Or was it because we were friends again, neither of us mad at each other?

They say three is a magic number. Where do I get a magic wand to help me parent a three-year-old?