Light In, Light Out
My almost-year old daughter has begun protesting bedtime. A week ago, instead of turning off the light and stretching out in her crib without a fuss, she cried. Every bedtime since then has been an annoying, yet heart-wrenching portrayal of Girl Who Hates Sleep.
Actual tears roll down her cheeks and she cries, "I don't want to go nighty-night in my crib!" Then she does that thing where you change the emphasis on each word.
"I DON'T want to go nighty-night in my crib!"
"I don't WANT to go nighty-night in my crib!"
"I don't want TO go nighty-night in my crib!"
"I don't want to GO nighty-night in my crib!"
"I don't want to go NIGHTY-NIGHT in my crib!"
"I don't want to go nighty-night IN my crib!"
"I don't want to go nighty-night in MY crib!"
"I don't want to go nighty-night in my CRIB!"
After each recitation, I repeat after her. I'm trying to empathize. But the fact remains: she has to go nighty-night in her crib and her tears do not affect me. Much.
My husband put her to bed last night and his solution to her sorrow was a nightlight. He found one and plugged it in, but when he did so, he had to unplug her cassette player.
Tonight, she wanted music, so I unplugged the nightlight. For some reason, we can only plug in one or the other. (We have stupid outlets in our house.)
She cried--wailed, actually--when I closed the door and he went in to soothe her. He said she wanted the nightlight, so he unplugged the music and plugged in the light.
It's one or the other around here, and not just lights or music. I can do one thing, but not everything. At least not all at once. And that's why I feel like a rotten mother. Time's ticking away and I can't do everything I want to do with my children or by myself, either, for that matter.
This summer, I still want to go to the ocean. I need to visit my 99-year old grandmother. (She lives close by.) I keep thinking about driving up north to visit my dad's grave--the sixteenth anniversary of his death is approaching. I'd hoped to catch up on my scrapbooks this summer. The weeds are maturing and dispensing even more weed seeds. We promised a trip to Wild Waves Waterpark. We have missed every single Concert in the Park and we haven't been to the beach once.
Too much to see, too much to do, too much. I am frustrated.
Actual tears roll down her cheeks and she cries, "I don't want to go nighty-night in my crib!" Then she does that thing where you change the emphasis on each word.
"I DON'T want to go nighty-night in my crib!"
"I don't WANT to go nighty-night in my crib!"
"I don't want TO go nighty-night in my crib!"
"I don't want to GO nighty-night in my crib!"
"I don't want to go NIGHTY-NIGHT in my crib!"
"I don't want to go nighty-night IN my crib!"
"I don't want to go nighty-night in MY crib!"
"I don't want to go nighty-night in my CRIB!"
After each recitation, I repeat after her. I'm trying to empathize. But the fact remains: she has to go nighty-night in her crib and her tears do not affect me. Much.
My husband put her to bed last night and his solution to her sorrow was a nightlight. He found one and plugged it in, but when he did so, he had to unplug her cassette player.
Tonight, she wanted music, so I unplugged the nightlight. For some reason, we can only plug in one or the other. (We have stupid outlets in our house.)
She cried--wailed, actually--when I closed the door and he went in to soothe her. He said she wanted the nightlight, so he unplugged the music and plugged in the light.
It's one or the other around here, and not just lights or music. I can do one thing, but not everything. At least not all at once. And that's why I feel like a rotten mother. Time's ticking away and I can't do everything I want to do with my children or by myself, either, for that matter.
This summer, I still want to go to the ocean. I need to visit my 99-year old grandmother. (She lives close by.) I keep thinking about driving up north to visit my dad's grave--the sixteenth anniversary of his death is approaching. I'd hoped to catch up on my scrapbooks this summer. The weeds are maturing and dispensing even more weed seeds. We promised a trip to Wild Waves Waterpark. We have missed every single Concert in the Park and we haven't been to the beach once.
Too much to see, too much to do, too much. I am frustrated.
posted by Melodee at Monday, August 01, 2005
5 Comments:
And I'm frustrated just because I'm up at 2:30 -- yet again! I feel like fussing just like Baby Girl.
Ayup, life's all about compromise.
Suzanne
you'n'me both
Baby girl is being a typical child trying to rule her world. It's a phase. I hate say let her cry it out but that is almost what you have to do. We always lived by the 15 minute rule. If the kiddle didn't stop crying after 15 min. we went back in, settled them down and tried again. It never took more than 30 minutes. Baths before bed helped a lot. Just realized that you have 4 kids so why am I giving you advice?!?
The summer is not over yet....
I've seen nightlights in stores that have a plug in front to plug something else into. Or, how about a wind-up music box to lull her to sleep?
I'm with you on how fast the summertime is going by. I haven't been to the beach yet and there's already early signs of fall around here. Definitely go visit Gramdma.
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