When visiting friends who also have young children, I am often moved beyond words when 7pm rolls around and it’s time for their toddlers to march off to bed – their little eyelids are so heavy that they practically fall asleep before even nuzzling up to their pillows. Such peaceful angels. Such deep sleep. Such quiet evenings for the parents. It’s enough to make me punch my friends.
Not that it’s their fault. While playing with their kid’s toys, my little Reina waves and bids them goodnight, secure in the knowledge that she has all of her cognitive faculties about her. She is ready for a full evening of games, activities and fun that need not stop for hours. Reina does not subscribe to the belief that parents require or somehow deserve quiet evenings. She’s a night owl.
Normally, this does not bother me much. When my wife, Savvy, gets home from work, she enjoys spending time with Reina and getting her ready for bed. It is their ritual bonding time of sacred acts, such as the brushing of teeth and the reading of books.
Although Reina is nearly 3, she still sleeps with Savvy almost every night. It’s not for all families, but it was the right choice for us and the time is nearing when Reina will start sleeping on her own (oh, heady day). Occasionally Reina wants me to put her to sleep, but most nights, this is Savvy’s domain. However, when Mama went on a business trip for two weeks in November, all the nightly rituals fell to me. I took them on with the confidence of an experienced father unwittingly poised to make some late-night rookie errors in judgment.
The first night, I chalked up her nocturnal behavior to missing Mama anxiety. Previous experience has taught me that the first night is always the worst – tossing and turning and waking in the night. I expected that. The second night, she was so exhausted that she wilted around 8pm. I barely got her teeth brushed before she was out like a light. Success! I was on top of my game. This would be easy.
Alas, it was the quiet before the storm. The third night, she could not, or would not, go to sleep. She wanted water, to use the toilet, to open the curtain, to alphabetize her books. Twice she bordered on sleep, only to finally cast it aside and suggest we go to the living room to watch a video. In desperation, or frustration, I agreed. Twenty-two minutes later, she looked so exhausted, I held her in my arms and she slept.
Every night after, she wanted to be “carried like a baby.” I tried all futile strategies to lull this restless creature to sleep. She began waking each morning around 3am and wanting to be carried until she fell asleep again. Tantrums ensued. I considered UN
mediators. And finally, one night, when my nerves were frayed and my wits at an end, I had a stroke of genius that was really only sheer desperation – I asked Reina if she wanted to sleep on the sofa. And she did. It still took her time to fall asleep, but she was content to lie in one corner by herself and let me sleep at the other end. No crying, no need to be carried and no more back aches.
In my heart, I knew nights of sleeping on the sofa would create trouble when Savvy returned, but I did not care. We had reached nocturnal détente and I finally managed to get in a few extra winks in the ensuing peace.
