Goodnight Moon
17 Jan 2012 Leave a Comment
This is a live blog, brought to you direct from my Master bedroom. Remember, that room that had been taken over by my two small children which I finally reclaimed to myself after nine months? Yeah. That lasted about two weeks until somebody got the sniffles and ended up in my bed one night, and it was all downhill from there. Oh how I missed the feet in my back all night long.
So we begin again tonight with the weaning process. Step one is move child out of my bed and into her own bed. Four feet away from me. That’s all. The following account is a minute by minute live account of our journey.
7:30pm: I mentally prep her for what’s to come, talking up how great it’s gonna be to be to sleep in her BIG girl bed, while I feed her sister. She is taking full advantage of my hands being full, jumping off my bed, then on her bed, running around in circles like a wild Indian.
7:44pm: I lay the baby down and we get her pajamas on, find her stuffed animals, and get her tucked into her toddler bed. She lays down with a smile on her face, thanking me for her fuzzy blanket, as I get ready for bed.
7:48pm: I climb into bed relishing the fact that I’m getting the whole bed to myself, complete with every pillow and all the blankets I want. I can hardly contain my excitement.
7:49pm: She realizes we are four feet apart.
7:49pm and 2 seconds: She starts to cry (fake…more like a whine) and asks to sleep with me. I remind her gently that we have our own beds and I’m right next to her.
7:50pm: The whining escalates and now she’s thirsty. My method is going to be to not let her manipulate me out of bed 1000 times, because she knows this will wear me down. I tell her if she wants a drink she can get a plastic cup from the counter and get water from the refrigerator. (I prepared ahead of time) This stuns her for a moment, then the whining and “I can’t”, “I want you to come with me”, and “I’m thirsty” wails continue. I ignore them.
7:58pm: She finally stops sobbing after 8 minutes and goes to the kitchen. She comes back with a plastic cup filled with a half an inch of water and tells me it’s coming out (of the refrigerator dispenser) too fast. Fair enough. I instruct her to get her water from the bathroom sink. Again, she cries about the fact that she can’t and she wants me to do it. I tell her no and listen to her cry (fake) inches from my face.
8:04pm: She finally gives up and gets her water from the bathroom sink. She is proud of herself, and happily carries her cup over beside her bed and tucks herself in, sipping her water every few seconds. I close my eyes.
8:06pm: I feel someone breathing on me. I open my eyes. She’s in my face with her eyebrows scrunched together and her arms crossed. She tells me she’s mad because she can’t sleep in my bed. (we’ve been working on expressing our feelings with words instead of smacking people) I tell her thank you for telling me how she feels, kiss and hug her, then tell her to go back to bed. She stomps off and throws herself on her mattress.
8:08pm: She’s back with a huge grin, giggling. She smirks as she explains to me she’s not going to bed until I read her a bedtime story. She says this in the same tone I use when I tell her if she doesn’t eat her dinner, she’s not getting a snack. I can’t help but laugh a bit, before sending her back to bed. Apparently, she really thought that one was going to work. Now she’s crying (real) with howls and shrieks in between sobs. I ignore it. They get progressively louder.
8:14pm: Now she’s in my face shrieking and howling that she wants me, she never gets to cuddle, she doesn’t want to sleep alone, and so on and so forth. I send her back to bed, hoarse from all the crying.
8:19pm: Now she has the hiccups, which sends her into mega-meltdown. She blames her hiccups on the fact that I’m not letting her sleep in my bed. I tell her to drink her water because it cures hiccups. (my LeBonheur friends will appreciate that advice)
8:22pm: Her generic sobs have turned into a plea that she’s cold. I tell her to cover up with her blanket. She says she can’t, it’s fallen on the floor and it’s too far for her to pick up. She’s five inches from the floor. I ignore her. She continues to sob over and over that she’s cold, kicking her legs violently on the mattress.
8:27pm: She picks up her blanket off the floor, quietly sobbing.
8:31pm: the sobbing stops.
At 8:36 and 8:39pm, she let’s out one long wail and then gets quiet again.
It is now 9:11pm and she is still awake, but quiet. She’s turning her turtle nightlight on and off, changing his colors, and making his stars shine all over the room. I’m really thirsty, but I know if I move a muscle, much less, leave the room then we will be back to square one. This makes my thirst worse.
It’s now 9:19pm and she’s turned off her nightlight and let out a sigh. I bet she’s asleep. I feel like a heartless parent, but I don’t know what else to do. She’s too much like me: stubborn and strong-willed, but she’s got a sensitive side under that rough exterior. I hate to be tough on her, but let’s keep things in perspective… she’s sleeping FOUR feet away! It’s not like I’m abandoning or emotionally abusing the poor child. It’s going to be alright. Right?
