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Friday, October 7, 2011

The Battle of Bedforshire...

Well, I'm not counting my chickens so to speak... But I think I've found the right combination of sweetness, (lullabies, books, bath-time...) threats, ("No more iPod ever again if you get out of bed, it goes to hobos! HOBOS!!!" and "Do you want to be quiet in your comfy bed, or upset standing in the corner?") and cajoling (ok FINE! Begging!) to get my son to sleep successfully half an hour earlier than the night previous, three nights running. So far we've knocked an hour and a half off of the latest he's ever stayed up, which is a disgusting 11:45pm. I think he knows mommy is serious bidneddssss now!

Three year olds are definitely more trying on your patience than two ever was.

Granted I still have the occasional whining after 11pm, but as the nights get darker earlier, this mama bear feels more like putting on a layer of fat and hibernating in her cave (sans adding the layer of fat... I already have that. I will just wear sweaters.) than popping in and out of my kids room, trying to convince him that sleep is fucking AWESOME... But he is apparently too young to appreciate it.

As a bonus, tonight, on my husbands attempt to get the child to crash, he busted out the "Santa knows if you've been naughty, so you need to listen to mommy or he won't bring you any presents!" line. In October. All this did was make J have saucers for eyes, stay quiet for, oh, two minutes, (maybe?) And then start telling me some gobbledygook
Story about Santa, Christmas presents, halloween, jack-o-lanterns, an airplane, and monster trucks.


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