OK, Just One More...

Here it was less than a week ago that I vowed to stay away from the time draining blog. And here I am now sitting in my dark office, all of my boys asleep in the house, and having all sorts of thoughts in my head. Why keep it to myself?

Chops is having issues with bedtime and naptime. The nap isn't there to be my afternoon crutch anymore. If he does happen to drift off, it is usually on the couch, after one too many Teletubbies, Boo Bahs, or other demented PBS shows. So even if he is napping, he is central in the household and any noise is bound to wake him up. Which brings me to my next problem.

The days Chops does succumb to the nap are the days when bedtime becomes a battle. He simply will not go down. Lately, I've been so exhausted by 8:00, that it doesn't even occur to me to let him stay up later to run out of steam. I can barely keep my eyes open to make sure he isn't torturing the cat or wiping diaper cream on the carpet (yep, that really happened). So we do the normal routine and march him to bed with a sippy cup of milk (don't alert the parenting police about the sippy cup in bed). Then I read him a few stories, always the same ones. It is to the point where I don't even need to look at the words anymore. In fact, one desperate night when we couldn't find one of his favorite books, I actually recited the whole thing to him...But I digress...

Usually, he would go right down without a fight. I knew this big boy bed thing was going a little too smoothly. I can handle giving up the nap, to some extent. But mess with the golden hour of bedtime? From 5:00pm on, I cast furtive glances at the clock in countdown for that moment of peace in the household when I can finally get my house back into order before the wrecking crew is up to their old tricks again the next morning. Or more likely, that moment when I can flop on the couch without a biting pre-toddler hanging all over me or Chops shouting MILK! PLEASE! The moment my butt hits the sofa.

Due to our recent exhaustion, Robbie and I have taken to lying in bed with Chops to help him calm down and fall asleep. Robbie started it. There, I said it. Although, I've taken up right where he left off. That is why I'm sitting here typing after 10:00. I've been lying with Chops for the past hour or so with a squirmy worm of a toddler and my own thoughts. And I really didn't feel so bad about lying there with him.

I read a lot of parenting magazines. It's part research for my own writing and part fascination with all the conflicting advice from the gazillion so called experts out there. There are the hippies sprawled out on the family bed against the tight asses who virtually crate train their babies in their cribs. I have always bounced between the two extremes and have managed really well. So I got to thinking about all those experts and how most would say I shouldn't give in and lay down with my son. I should march him back to his room over and over and over again. Don't give in! Don't lay down!

I know I'm being dramatic but blame it on the exhaustion. As I was laying there listening to Chops ramble on: "Cuddle Mama. Cuddle Sponge Bob pillow. Yogurt dinner." and on and on he rambled, I might add, I thought this. If I died tomorrow, would I want my last day with Chops posted on the outside of his door ordering him back into bed over and over frustrating the hell out of both of us? Or would I want that last night to be under his race car quilt, cuddled up next to him, rubbing his stubbly hair and soft skin, listening to his toddler speak until it finally slowed to a rhythmic snore?

Don't get me wrong though. This laying in bed with Chops for an hour or two every night simply isn't going to fly much longer. But the moments cuddled warm and safe in his pile of blankets are a sacrifice I'm willing to make every now and then. I don't think I'll let him nap tomorrow...