“Time to clean up. We’re going to bed soon,” I told Baby C.
“Yes. We’re gonna sleep in Daddy’s bed,” he assured me.
Um, no. “No, you’re gonna sleep in C’s bed.”
He sighed before saying, “Okay.”
Cleaning up, as it always is, was a pain in the ass. C likes to redecorate the living room with his toys, but screams bloody murder when forced to pick them all up. Minutes later, the toys were away and his teeth brushed. I gave him night-night love and laid him down in his bed.
After I turned off the light and retreated into my room he began to wail. I returned to his doorway and flipped on the hallway light.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“I want to sleep in Daddy’s room.”
“No, honey. You need to sleep in your bed.”
“You need to lay on the floor,” he pleaded, gesturing to a spot on the floor beside his bed.
“No. You can sleep by yourself in your bed. You’re a big boy now. And Scout will lay next to you. Is that okay?”
A sigh of resignation escaped between his tiny lips. “Yes.”
“Goodnight, sweetie. I love you.”
I went back to my room and waited for him to start crying again, but I was pleasantly surprised. There were no more cries and he went to sleep all by himself. I allowed myself to think I had come out of the situation victorious. For some reason I’d forgotten just how stubborn my son can be.
It was about 2 in the morning (I’m guessing. I never looked at the clock and that’s what it felt like.) when the ruckus began. I could hear C shaking his baby gate like he was trying to get a confession out of it. He was repeatedly shouting “Daddy! I’m wakey-wakey!”
I trudged over to his door and conceded defeat. Had he been tired, or even showed the slightest bit of fatigue, I’d have put him back in his bed. But noooo, he was wide awake at some ungodly hour during which no human should ever be awake. I picked him up and he immediately pointed toward my bed. He didn’t ask to sleep in my bed. He didn’t even request it. He pointed to it, silently commanding me to convey him to my bed, which is apparently the mecca of places to sleep to him.
I was too tired to fight so I just carried him to my bed and laid him between myself and the wall (so he doesn’t roll off), where he immediately complained about not having a pillow. No, he’s not spoiled at all, why do you ask? Anyhow, I gave him a pillow and went right back to sleep.
This morning I awoke to find that he had done a complete 180 in his sleep. His feet were where his head was supposed to be and vice versa (obviously), which is one of the reasons I’d prefer he slept in his own bed. I have nightmares about the time Baby B was sleeping in bed with me shortly after his mother and I separated and he kicked me in the junk one night. That’s not an event I wish to experience again.
I lost this battle, but the war is far from over. This trooper shall persevere, and he shall prevail. No three-year old will get the best of me. Well, not in the long run. Um, I hope….dammit.