Bedtime, you are the scourge of humanity.

Can I just interrupt my regularly scheduled lush-green-vista-wanderlust-adventure-seaking-rice-fields-train-track-type programming to talk for a moment about bedtime. Because, bedtime, sometimes you're a real asshole.

 

(Also, let's just employ a little bit of cognitive dissonance here and disregard the great destruction and loss that just occurred here in Jakarta and pretend that my nightly woes are significant, okay?)

 

I always have these grand ideas about what I'll do with that luxurious time after my kid's in bed and the evening stretches out, unblemished and pure. I'll drink wine! I'll read a book! Maybe take a bath! Or paint my toenails.

 

And then bedtime comes and all of the light goes right out of me.

 

For the uninitiated, here's a typical evening in the EpB household:

 

Brush teeth, read stories, sing a song and into bed. It's 7:30.

 

My child lays her head on the pillow, for exactly seven seconds. Then this: Sing songs. Request cuddles. Change positions a million times. Hold hands. Cuddle. No cuddle. Blankie. No blankie. Sing more songs. Ramble incoherently. Demand that I pat-pat-pat her bottom. Sit up, start talking about friends, requiring  to know the exact location of every person with whom she's ever made acquaintance. Mama, where's Nannie? Mama, where's Abio? Mama, where's teacher? 

 

"Stella, it's sleeping time. No talking." 

 

Thirty seconds silence. Then, Itsy Bitsy Spider, Twinkle, Twinkle, *reaches over and beeps my nose* and then it's "Wheels on the Bus". 

 

"Stella. GO TO SLEEP!"

 

One minute silence.

 

 "Merry Cripmas, Olivia. Merry Cripmas Ian, Merry Cripmas William, Merry Cripmas Julian, etc etc etc).

 

(Repeat for a hour).

 

Then, I lose my mind, storm out of the room, and my child produces some serious murder screams.

 

 

I come back because I'm a soft, lily-livered human.

 

I lie down next to my banshee, and eventually I fall asleep. Then she pokes me in the eyes. "WAKE UP, MAMA."

 

This goes on for all of eternity. 

 

Exhausted or rested, quiet time or crazy-baby time, early bedtime or late bedtime, it's a two-hour-bedtime. Every time.

 

All of which is to say, I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't know how to make my kid go to bed within a reasonable time frame. She's always been like this, from the time she was about two weeks old. 

 

Still, I take solace in two things: One, I no longer have to do this four times a day (three naps plus bedtime =how did I ever survive infancy?) And two, when I text my husband that a particularly terrible bedtime can only be endured with a bottle of whiskey, he takes me seriously. 

 

  


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