Bedtime Blues

You might be thinking, "Another post about sleep? Really? Why don't you give it a rest?" or maybe you're not into cheeky puns... regardless, yes, this is another post about sleep. Well, not sleep so much as bedtime.

Over the past two and a half odd years, sleep has become a sensitive subject in my house. Our success or failure as parents was measured by the number of hours we and our child(ren) were getting. The first year (okay, year and a half) was mostly failure. Since then, however, I feel like we win more than we lose-- even with an infant in the house. On a nightly basis, though, I often finish the bedtime routine feeling defeated, in spite of the fact that both the kids are sleeping.

Here's why:


7:15: Norah completing her supper at a snail's pace.

7:20: I take Nolan to feed him before Chris would put him to sleep for the night.

7:30: Norah, still at the dinner table, announces "I POOPED! I POOPED!" and I hear Chris rush her to the bathroom only to discover she has not, in fact, pooped, but merely has to poop. (If you are ever in a crowded room with my child and she yells "FIRE!" don't panic. Just take the matches away. She was only thinking of starting one).

7:40: I pass Nolan to Chris. Having hoped to squeeze a bath in before Norah went to bed, but recognizing the extended meal-time and10 minute potty break have complicated that desire, I concede that battle and instead embark upon bedtime routine.

7:50: Hands washed, teeth brushed, pants-less, Norah is monkeying around and refusing to cooperate. I go to cut out a construction paper star (aka Norah's Special Star) that Norah will tape onto another piece of construction paper holding one special star from each night she goes to sleep "like a big girl." Let's be clear: She gets the star before she actually goes to sleep and we don't take them away even if she doesn't cooperate because the one time Chris tried that it was like we needed an exorcist. In spite of this flaw in our system, they work pretty well. She now has 16 stars and I would say she legitimately earned 13 of them.

8:00: After allowing her to stick her special star onto her special paper, I am able to convince her to continue with the routine. Puffer and gummies completed, donning her pyjamas, Norah demands that we read a book (we had moved away from reading books right before bed, telling her a customized--and usually didactic-- tale instead). Going against my better judgement, I agree to diverge from routine and read a book. I lift her up to choose one and say, "Which book?" to which she responds, "No. Two books." to which I respond, "No. One book." to which she retorts, "No. Two books. One for you and one for me." to which I retort, "I do not need a book." but she insists, "Two books! One for you and one for me!" So I say, "One book or zero books." She smiles happily, "Zero books." "Fine." I say, putting her on her bed. Confused she cries, "NO! ZERO BOOKS!" She does not know what zero means. "Zero means none, Norah." She cries harder. "Pick one book!" I say, exasperated. She picks a dumb Spot book with flaps and reads it herself.

8:15: I turn on her white noise, tell her to climb to her pillow, turn out her lights, and climb into bed with her. "Who will be in your story tonight?" "A BIG MAD GIANT." I commence a story about a big mad giant who doesn't do anything his parents say, including going to bed. This turns out to be a big mistake. In spite of nearly drifting into sleep several times throughout the story, I manage to string together a coherent plot in which the giant sees the error of his ways and learns that doing what his parents say is actually best (yes. I propagandize my child in this way and I am not ashamed to say it. It usually works. Usually.).

8:25: Norah demands another story even though this has never been a part of the routine. I stand firm. "No, Norah. It is time to go to sleep." She begins to wig out. I give her several opportunities to stop crying, but to no avail. I leave. Norah gets out of bed and opens her door screaming, "I WANT TO WAKE UP! I WANT TO WAKE UP! I WANT TO BE WAKE!" Behaviour the likes of which we have not seen since before she was two. I go back in and put her on her bed. Only after she repeats, "I DON'T WANT TO GO TO BED!" about six times in a row do I realize that she has become the main character of my aforementioned story. Apparently she didn't catch the ending. Me: "Norah! Are you being the big mad giant?" Norah: (crying immediately ceases) "Yes." Apparently she's a method actor. Me: "Norah, I am going to tell you another story." Norah: "Another story?! You already told me big giant story!" She laughs. Me: "Let's be clear: you are not getting this story because you cried. Crying does not get you what you want. You are getting this story because Mommy made a big mistake telling you that giant story." Norah: "Okay Mom."

8:30: I tell Norah the story of her special stars and how they follow her from our red house to Grandma and Papa's and then to our new house to sing her to sleep.

8:35: After completing the story, Norah demands, "Stay six minutes." "Okay. I will stay six minutes." "No. Lots of minutes." "Fine. Lots of minutes." "And six minutes." "Only if you try to go to sleep." After lots of minutes of adjusting her blankets, reminding her to close her eyes, and her breathing finally relaxing, I sit up to leave the bed. I kiss her and she gives me a noogie. "I mess up your hair!" she cackles. "Norah," I say firmly, "I say, 'Goodnight, Norah. I love you.' Norah says...." "I love you, too." "Okay, have a good sleep." She goes to sleep.

8:45: I leave her room. I go close Nolan's blinds and arrange his bed for sleep. I go downstairs to inform C of my completed mission. He is ready to put Nolan in his crib. He follows me up the stairs, me turning out lights as I go so that they don't wake the boy. C puts him down and closes his door.

9:05: After a short visit, C goes to buy a car-seat for Nolan-- an errand that would have taken too long when the kids were awake. I go change laundry loads and fold the dry stuff while watching Ellen, which I have pvr'd.

9:30: I sit down to write this blog.

9:45: C returns with ice-cream. We each eat some. I return to typing in here.

10:20: Nolan wakes and C goes in to soothe him.

10:25: Nolan is not pleased. I go in to feed him back to sleep.

10:50: I put Nolan in his crib and return to writing this post.

Both of my kids will sleep between 10-12 hours tonight. I will likely get 5 or 6 (mostly because my insomniac tendencies have returned since I decided to go back to school). On a relative scale involving households with two children, one of whom is less than 6 months old, this is amazing, but I can't help but feel spent. Every night this week has looked similar-- lengthy productions to get the kids to sleep. There are nights when I leave Norah's bedroom only to be greeted by Nolan's cries for comfort and without a break end up spending over two hours just trying to get each of them dreaming.

On one hand, I feel bad complaining. There will come a time when I will have to sneak into their rooms when they are not around to try to get a sense of what is going on in their lives, when instead of calling my name, they will call their friends or significant others to help them deal with problems, when hugs and snuggles will be distant, rose-coloured memories (only for me, mind you. My kids will have no recollection of this beautiful struggle)... I will long for this then.

On the other, an evening to myself or... gasp! Out with friends would be amazing-- rejuvenating even. Heck, even just a night where bedtime was a one-act-play rather than a full-length opera would be nice. Is short and sweet too much to ask?

Probably. I guess I will have to settle for using this post as fodder for a guilt trip in the future.