The Baby? Goes to bed if you hand him milk and put him in his crate. He takes a hit and then he’s gone.
The Boy? He’ll be the death of me.
I realize that this child will probably not be getting into bed with me in the middle of the night when he is 12 and I realize that it is my fault (read “my husband’s fault) for not cracking the whip and forcing him back to bed. With lack of consistency, Kristen, what do you expect? Um, to sleep, for heaven’s sake.
The problem is that he needs you to be there when he falls asleep. I know. I know.
“Let him cry it out. It’ll be a few bad nights.” How cute are those people? If that kid didn’t cry for more than 3 weeks, I would be surprised. And I’m not really into that. How about that whole slowly going backwards thing where you spend less and less time with them in the bed time process?
The problem? Bed time is not my job. I have all those other jobs for the 11 hours The Husband is gone during the day. He wants to lay down with him every night? What the heck do I care? Until I get a child’s size 9 curling his toes around the top of my underwear in the middle of the night.
I was hardcore for a whole 3 days back at the beginning of the year. I got up and put him back in bed. He was fine. Then his father let him stay and then the A/C broke and now it’s so much easier to climb up off the floor and into bed with us.
I could live with the kicks but the quirks are killing me. You see, The Boy’s security blanket is holding your ear. He comes by it genetically (hi, KATE!!) but he doesn’t just hold your ear. He has this elaborate thing whereby you feel like he has just spent the last 18 minutes conducting precise measurements of your ear. He doesn’t actually breach the canal. He just cups your ear in his hand and moves his hand around for perhaps the perfect fit?
My mother will be leaving a comment about how cute it is that he does it. His aunt will be defensive and defiant of the ear-holders. These people are NOT subjected to the 18 minute ear feel-up going on at 4:30 when he crawls into bed with us. It’s his comfort. It wakes me up.
Sometimes he adds the Helen Keller to it. He puts his hands flat on your face, applies slight pressure and slowly moves his hands across your entire face as if he is using his hands to identify who you are (much like Helen Keller did).
Hi, I’m your mother. You came from my womb. This is MY bed. Who in heaven’s name do you think is in here?
K: STOP HELEN KELLERING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!
D: Babe, that is just wrong.
K: I am not trying to disparage Helen Keller. I’m just saying that he is neither deaf nor blind. And he is a boy. I have seen what he does with his hands. He does Boy Things. In fact, I think he may have just scratched his, I can’t even say it because I feel ill now just thinking about it. It’s not like he is just touching me. He is PRESSING whatever is on his hands into the pores on my face. To identify me. He needs to just open his eyes. Oh, he could just sleep in his own bed. How WILD and CRAZY would THAT be? That’s it, we are going to antibacterial soap. A 55 gallon drum. The Boy is getting dipped before bed every night. I just can’t do it anymore. It creeps me out.
I know. It’s sweet. He’s sweet. It’s just that he’s gross too. Whatcha gonna do?