Bedtime at our house goes something like this.
Chris takes Liam upstairs with him yelling “Stop” and “No” all the way. Once they get to the top and begin the teeth brushing and diaper changing and pajama donning, he stops yelling and is generally cooperative.
When his teeth are scrubbed and jammies on, Liam hollers “Mom.” Then it is time for me to go up. I straighten his bed and hand him his pony and blanket while he sits on Chris’ lap in the rocking chair. I give/get kisses and head back downstairs while Chris sings to Liam and rocks him.
This part of the routine works well. It is later that the system breaks down and runs off the rails.
Liam has taken to getting out of bed three to five times each evening after Chris has put him there. It is very frustrating. Chris and I only have just a couple of hours, at most, from the time Liam goes to bed until we crash ourselves. Time for us to talk and try to maintain our own relationship.
Once he is in bed the first time, we take turns going up and putting him back.
When becomes my second or third turn, I find myself flying up the stairs with the intent of swatting him on the butt and really giving him what for. I get to the top of the stairs telling him to: “Get back to bed.” Then I have to follow this tiny-little, bow-legged guy in footie jammies down the hall to his room. It tugs at my heartstrings every time, and inevitably I tuck him gently into bed and caress his hair and sing to him and tell him how much Mommy would like it if he would stay in bed this time. I am the biggest pushover in the world when it comes to this cute little dude.
I just don’t get it. I am generally pretty tough. The whole time I was pregnant I worried I would be too harsh as a parent. I am surprised and pleased that it hasn’t turned out that way.
15 hours ago
