I was lying next to the boy tonight on my bed trying to see if sleepytime would take over. Despite what the "experts" say there is no real set schedule in our house. It's a similar gripe as my "Pattern Schmattern" entry from earlier this month. All I have to say is: Schedule, Schmedule. I try to have sleepytime start somewhere in the vicinity of the 8 o'clock hour. But realistically, often it's as late as 10pm. For one week he went to bed at 8pm on the dot. That was marvelous and the closest thing resembling a schedule. That was also a very, very long time ago. Now, the boy is teething so he's very clear about letting me know when he's hurting mildly and a silly distraction will work, vs. when he's in severe pain and even armpit farts stop being funny. So, anyway, tonight's sleepytime routine started at 8ish. But instead of the regular rocking, singing, and nursing us both into oblivion, I thought I'd try something different. I laid on the bed with him as he scooted backwards, flipped over numerous times, showed me Michael Phelps-esque arm and leg movements, rocked vigorously on his hands and knees, and giggled at his many stuffed toys. Clearly, this is not sleepytime. It is however, naked time. So it's really hard not to smile at his cute little naked baby butt.
After about an hour of him playing happily on his own, sleepytime sets in. For me. Not him, he's alert, happy, and is really enjoying this time with his mom. Unlike last night when he was screaming at the top of his lungs and pissed off that I wasn't doing anything to ease his pain. So even though the experts would scold me for letting him stay up this late, my gut response is, "Go to hell."
He is having the time of his life climbing all over me, wildly knocking me in the chin, poking me in the eyes, grabbing violently on to my lower lip or one nostril, and my all time favorite: getting three or four strands of hair stuck in his sweaty palms and then pulling. Since he is distracting himself from his teething pain, I let him continue.
It is possible to fall into a deep sleep while all this is being done to you. (I have proven it many times.) But tonight, I do see an end coming, soon. The erratic movements start to slow down and his eyes start to glaze over.
And then it happens. The exact same thing that happens nine out of seven nights in the week. Just as he gives in to his heavy lids, my husband's car pulls up in the driveway, the car door slams, the car alarm beeps, all three dogs start barking and running towards the front door, the front gate slams, then the front door slams, and last but not least Peanut yelps because she just got stepped on or run over by the other two bigger dogs. And then, we start all over again. Kien's eyes shoot open, his hands spasm and swat me in the face, and it's like play time never ended.
I am going on six months now being a mom, and you are correct. I haven't learned a damn thing. You'd think that after months of this routine I would have figured out a solution. Lock the dogs up, give them a sedative, find them new homes, etc. I can't. I love them and they will always be our "children" as well. It's gotten to the point now where I just laugh. If I didn't find a way to laugh about it, I would cry until the sun came up. And we all know that I need sleep. No longer do I act surprised or mad. It's just part of the routine. To save face a little bit, I have to point out that my husband comes home from work at various times. If he was on a regular schedule (again, regularity is a big joke around here) I could at least plan around this major disruption. That would make me a smart mother. But, believe it or not, Kien is always almost asleep right when Daddy walks in the house, no matter what time it is.
Depending on how frustrated I am, I either hand him over to Daddy and say, "Your turn." as I walk out of the room to gauge my eyes out. OR with intense animation I make him back out of the room, silently scream at him that he's ruined everything, and oh by the way, can you get me some water? And somewhere in there I have remembered to laugh because some idiot told me once to remember to keep my humor. I have learned one thing that is certain: If Kien catches sight of Daddy then FORGET IT!!! It's like the circus just landed in our house and bed time is now pushed to midnight.
Tonight, I choose the latter option and use my omnipotent glare to get him to leave immediately. I protect Kien's eyes from the sight of the circus tent, and at long last, he's asleep. See? I don't need some know-it-all expert to tell me how to get my son to sleep. Cry it out? Routine? Pish-ahhh, I say.
It's 10pm. A mere two hours from when we started. But who's counting?
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