Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Running on empty
You see, I have a toddler.
A toddler who has hit the Terrible Twos with such magnificence that he didn’t even wait to be 2.
A toddler who left for vacation with broken speech and a strict bedtime routine but came back a linguist who laughs in the face of bedtime and tells us off as he’s scaling cribs and walls and what have you.
Hey, “No night-night, Momma!” is smart-mouthing. I don’t care what you say.
So yesterday we bought him a toddler bed since he climbed out of his crib and opened his bedroom door within 30 seconds of us putting him in his room Sunday night.
Last night sucked.
My husband got on the floor beside his bed for our son’s first night in the big-boy bed, and was back downstairs with the angel sleeping in his bed by 10:20 p.m.
Then all hell broke loose.
11:40 p.m.: I hear him crying on the monitor. He’s still in the bed, though, so I go in, comfort him and get him back to sleep. Whew.
12:21 a.m.: More crying. I go into the room and almost trip over my husband, who has resumed his position on the floor next to the bed but somehow is sleeping through these cries. I wake him up and we discuss our game plan. Uh, yeah. We have nothing. The crying continues.
12:21-2:30 a.m.: The exact times get blurry as I race from our room to our son’s. He’s now running up and down the hall. My husband determines that the diaper boxes full of clothes near the railing that overlooks our foyer is a jump risk. I’m not sure if he means for our son or him, but I help him move the boxes to a spare room.
2:30 a.m.: We raise the white flag and say our son can sleep in our bed.
2:31 a.m.: We realize that this kid not only has no interest in sleeping in his new bed, he has no interest in sleeping anywhere.
2:41 a.m. (pictured): Our son decides what we need here is a little music. Just give him a minute. He’ll find the right button.
2:45 a.m.: Why is there a golden retriever ass on my face? Clyde, GET OUT OF THE BED!
3 a.m.: I come to after slightly dozing off to hear “Well, I thought you wanted milk. You want juice? OK.” I doze back off. “OK, I’ll go back and get the purple straw.” Doze back off. “MISTY, IT’S YOUR TURN!”
3-3:45 a.m.: I chase him up and down the hall a few more times and plead with him to stop crying. He wants da-da.
3:45 a.m.: We’re all back in our bed, and I open my eyes to hear my son say, “Hi, Momma!”
4 a.m.: Silence. Sweet, sweet silence. He’s asleep horizontally near my knees.
5 a.m.: My alarm goes off. I hit the snooze button.
5:09 a.m.: Snooze button.
5:18 a.m.: Snooze button.
5:27 a.m.: OK, I hear you! Damn it. I somehow crawl to the treadmill for 3 miles.
Anyone wanna make predictions for what time I fall asleep at my desk?