Bedtime is at 8pm. 4 trips to bathroom. 1 pj change. 2 stories. A cry for her newest obsession “blinky” (a square piece of fuzzy fabric). A request for water. Another request for water, because previous water is now ‘old’. 2 angry exchanges with daddy. Then a pleading reply to let him know there’s room for daddy in her bed. Singing to self.
Escape to mommy’s bed….trip back to her bed with this final bedtime convo at 10pm.
“To bed, close your eyes. No more bathroom, no more water. If you don’t listen, you’re going to be in trouble,” idle threats by me.
“Rar! I’m not going to call you mommy anymore, you mean” she bellows.
“Well, then when you cry for mommy the next time because you’re scared or hurt I won’t come to you” declares me nastily, like the troll she imagines me to be.
“Why?”
“Because if you say I’m not mommy I can’t act like mommy.”
“Mommy! I love you” Says the savvy stinker quite sweetly.
I have won the battle, not the war.
P.S. We struggled for the longest time getting her to sleep in her own bed. Don’t let them break you steele mommies, hold out for 1 week & you’ll get the best sleep of your life by night #8…because you’ll never have been so tired in your life. What’s your best tip?
steelemommy 