Bedtime Battles

Tonight, as I write this, it is 9:32pm.

9:32 and all three of my children went to bed without a single return to their room.

And I have this unnatural desire to stand up and do a celebration dance. A dance I would do if I wasn't so tired. So tired from fighting bedtime battles for days, weeks on end.

It's mostly Elijah. Nearly soley Elijah. We aren't sure what was causing it. New baby? Growing up? Manipulating us? Who knows. But he just would NOT go to bed.

Well, he'd go to bed. But he'd get up over and over and over again. He'd cry. He'd sob. His nose would run. His eyes would run. He'd want a tissue. He wanted us to fix his blanket. He couldn't find his pacifier. His froggie was lost. He had to go to the bathroom. It went on and on. If at any moment, we did not do exactly as he wanted, he'd errupt into an emotional breakdown.

When we realized we were being bamboozled by his emotions and passion, we put a stop to it. No more. If he wanted a tissue, there was a box next to his bed. If his blanket was messed up, he could fix it. Missing pacifier? Look for it. Need to go the bathroom? Go by himself.

He got mad. Mad that we wouldn't do things exactly the way he wanted. Mad that we wouldn't help him over and over again. Mad that every single time he got out bed, a consequence ensued. His frustrations grew so great that he started telling us to "Stop talking to me!" JB informed him that he does not talk to Daddy that way. He repeated it again. JB repeated his own phrase again. They went back and forth until Isaac, cool as a cucumber in the neighboring bed said, "You can talk to me Daddy."

It was hard to keep a straight face that time.

The emotion would continue into the night. If he woke up at any point during the night, he'd wander into our room and start tossing around his demands. He'd weep that he needed to go potty. And if we didn't help him, he'd start to cry. And if we didn't wipe his nose the way he wanted, he'd cry harder.

I have a saying. In parenthood, if something is working for you, keep doing it. If it isn't working for it, fix it. This was not working for us. At all. And it needed to be fixed.

But we refused to be beaten by a two year old. We camped out outside the boys' room. We strategized. We brainstormed. We wept. We nearly cried from fatigue.

And tonight, finally, we had a breakthrough. In bed. One time. Just one time.

We beat a two year old! Go us!

Go us to bed.