Bedtime has become, ahem, something of a challenge around here.
The process starts somewhere between 8:15 and 8:30 p.m. That’s when we drag Tori upstairs (literally. Brian takes her feet, I take her hands. She loves it) and start the pajama hunt.
After she and whatever stuffed animals are accompanying her to bed that night are suitably dressed, we brush teeth, read a couple books, and turn the lights out.
Yep. That’s the theory.
In reality, that’s when the fun begins.
Moments after I close the door over, she pops up.
“Mommy, I have to go potty!”
“I need you to heeelp!”
So I sit on the tub and listen to her chatter until she manages to tinkle a little bit.
Then it’s back to bed for another back rub.
Five minutes later.
“Mommy, I’m thiiiiiiiirsty!”
“Mommy, I’m huuuungry!”
“Mommy, I’m scaaaared.”
And if all else fails?
“Owie, owie, owie, owie! I hurt! Heeeeeeelp!”
Throw in at least one more trip to the bathroom and you have one very frustrated mommy and one kid up way, way past her bedtime.
Which is not acceptable. That’s my blogging time she’s monopolizing, people!
So. Obviously this has to stop.
And that means, there’s no more Mrs. Nice Mom.
Nope. I’m having to pretend to be strict.
I’m having to ignore her sobs, disregard my impulse to go comfort the screaming child, and take another sip of wine instead.
And let me tell you, there’s a lot of howling, sobbing, and screaming. My girl, when she gets mad, she gets really, really mad (much like her mommy).
So. We’re sticking to the routine. She’s allowed to potty one more time after books are read, and then it’s lights out. No drinks, no snacks, no imaginary boo boo kissing.
When she gets up, we pick her up, put her back to bed, and leave (covering our shattering eardrums as we go).
But yesterday she was down by 10. Tonight it was 9:30. Who knows, maybe tomorrow it will be 9!
Which means mama can blog again (and, you know, maybe pay a little attention to her husband).
This being strict thing, it doesn’t come naturally to me. But I’m going to fake it till I make it.
It’ll be better for all of us in the end.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.