Sinking into our couch, I look at the clock. 11:15. 11:15 PM. I had literally spent our entire night getting our kids to bed. Metaphorically, we had tripped and fallen hard on our faces. While this was an exceptionally bad night, our whole bedtime routine with our older son – nicknamed Sprout – is always a delicate dance.
The Dance Begins
The music starts as dinner ends. My younger son is often done before Sprout is, so I start making parental bath assignments without needing to prod him just yet. My husband and I switch off on who gets who, calibrated on our level of tiredness and their level of clinginess. “Hey, are you done?” I casually ask Sprout.
If he says yes, I throw out a sprightly “Hey, it’s time for bath!” On the days he must take one, suggesting it is key – neither asking nor demanding works. Asking always leads to a prompt “no.” Why ask if it’s not actually a choice? Demanding inspires defiance. So I gently take his hand, neither waiting for him to start or forcing it.
Then, the pursuit begins. Much of the time he runs away, heading towards the bathroom before abruptly swerving into his room. “Come on,” I cajole. Sprinting back to the living room, he throws himself onto the couch. The people who encourage quiet activities before bedtime don’t have a bedtime-hating Tasmanian devil in their house.
He wants to lead the dance, but thinks it’s a rave instead of a calming waltz. Me chasing him around is a game, a way to both play with mommy and avoid bedtime. I move my feet as fast as I can to keep up.
A Brief Respite
Once we get in the bath, there’s a rest, where he does his solo splashing and singing. I get to watch from the wings. When he finally gets out, he dons one of his many fuzzy towels and declares he’s a bear or a dog or a fish. Of course, none of these critters are interested in bedtime or pajamas. (At least he doesn’t say he’s a rock.) We used to pretend he was a shark coming to get us, complete with a mangled version of the Jaws theme and enthusiastic fake chomping.
The Tempo Increases
The dance restarts. When I try to get him dressed – something he is capable of doing himself – he says, “I don’t wanna! I just want to play with yoooouuuuu.” Thanks for the guilt, kid. “I wish I could play with you all night long. At the same time, you need sleep to learn and grow,” I explain.
Two steps forward, one step back. Fun, but not too fun. Engaging him without encouraging further delay. Moving things along without inspiring rebellion.
Reading books allows me another chance to breathe. With my voice and the author’s words, I weave stories of children who build flying machines, cycles of the garden, and wild things running amuck. The time spent cuddling slows him for a few moments.
Then it’s back to the push and pull. Now, he knows there’s just going to the bathroom and brushing his teeth standing between him and bedtime. He often throws himself on his bed. I declare, “I guess you’re too tired for favorite things or getting tucked in. I’ll just turn your lights off.”
He usually relents, joining me in the bathroom. If necessary, I’ll soften the horribleness of going potty with a story about his favorite imaginary bunnies. As he brushes his teeth, I provide a bit of entertainment by singing a silly song about it.
Most nights, the dance then slows down. Sprout climbs in bed while Chris and I sit with him. Each of us name a favorite thing from that day, even if it’s as vague as his go-to of “Mommy!” Our celebrations continue by going through the things he did well that day, from being kind to his brother to staying by Chris’s side in the grocery store. After final hugs and kisses, we say goodnight and close his door.
Why We Dance
While the routine itself can be long and kind of annoying, it works for the most part. Sometimes he leaves his room after he goes to bed, but much of the time he doesn’t. The night above happened because he took a half-hour nap during a car ride and has a terrible time getting to sleep when he naps. Because he was fighting sleep, he had a meltdown. His screaming woke up his brother, who really didn’t want daddy to comfort him. Thankfully, those days are now few and far between.
The most frustrating thing is that I completely empathize with him. I too hate going to sleep. Like him, I’ve had nightmares since I was a little girl. Like him, I find everything else more interesting and engaging than lying in my bed. Like him, I fight with all of my being to stay awake even when I know that I should close my eyes.
We do the bedtime dance every night because I know how hard it is go to bed when you don’t want to. My understanding gives me patience even when I’m seething. When I tell him how important bedtime is, I realize I should be listening to my own advice. I try to lead without pushing, be flexible while reciting the steps, follow while still having some control. In that way, every night – even a really bad night – is a little microcosm of parenting as a whole.
While we’ve mostly got bedtime down to a tricky art, our struggles are the thing of legend. The night we switched him to a toddler bed, he got up more than 50 times. To follow all of our ups and downs, be sure to follow us on Facebook!