That Time We Slept And Then Went To Preschool

Well, all the walking and the fresh springlike air yesterday afternoon seemed to bring the goal we had to a reality.

Thing 2 slept all night long.

Glory, glory and also Hallelujah!

Of course, he didn’t go down without a fight.  I rocked him to sleep at 8:00 last night, even though every Child Sleep Expert With A PhD Behind His Name claims that this is the very last thing a mother should be doing with a three-year-old.  So sue me.  I kind of adore rocking children to sleep, and I rocked the boy to sleep every night until it just didn’t happen any more, which was sometime around the age of three-and-a-half.  He simply decided one night that he was a big boy of thirty-one pounds, and he could probably go to sleep with just a story and the covers pulled up and tucked beneath his chin.  So even though the Child Sleep Experts With A PhD Behind Their Names believe that rocking babies to sleep every night leads to them going off to college with no real idea on how to put themselves to bed, without a mommy and her rocking chair nearby, I’m here to prove them wrong.  My fourteen-year-old shoves his earbuds into his ears every night, sets his phone to PLAY SOME MUSIC FOR ME, and he goes to sleep without any issues at all.

So yes.  Thing 2 and I rocked last night, and I won’t lie.  I was kind of feeling a bit tearful, because apparently sleep deprivation can make a grown girl just want to bawl.  And then the most beautiful thing happened:  Thing 2 sighed and fell asleep right at 8 pm.  I carried him over to his bed and tucked him all in for the night.  I turned his white noise machine on high, to drown out the sounds of the rest of his family partying and blowing up balloons and tooting horns and throwing confetti and cutting cake, which is what our toddler is absolutely convinced happens after he falls asleep, which is why he fights it so hard.

And then I quietly closed the door to Thing 2’s bedroom and joined the celebrations, which is code for I HAD TO CLEAN UP THE KITCHEN BECAUSE I HAD COOKED DINNER IN IT.  I was frightfully busy getting the leftover jambalaya put into the refrigerator and loading the dishwasher at 8:15, when Thing 2 waltzed out of his bedroom and said, “Hi!  I had a good nap!”

And that, people, is when I sort of fell into the sleep deprivation canyon called MOMMY IS CRYING IN THE KITCHEN, SO SOMEONE SHOULD POUR HER A GLASS OF WINE.

I marched Thing 2 back to his room.  I tucked him back into bed.  And then I put a baby gate in his bedroom doorway and said, “You’re going to sleep, and you can cry it out until you do.”  I’m betting that the Child Sleep Experts With The PhD Behind Their Names would call this child abuse, but Mama was one more bite of Rice Krispies away from snapping.

Thing 2 stood at the baby gate and bawled his head off about HOW UNFAIR HIS LIFE WAS.  And that’s pretty much when he sized me up and shot me a look that said, “So… we’re going to cry it out tonight, are we?  CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, LADY!!!  You’d better sit yourself down and cover your ears, because I’m about to unleash a decibel that’ll kill an elephant dead.”

By 8:25, he was done sobbing, and had resorted to some soft whining on his bed about how he was missing a party in the kitchen.  I buckled.  I scaled the baby gate, scooped him up, and rocked him.

#MamaCaved  #DontJudge  #SoWhat  #ToddlersDontStayLittleForever

He was sound asleep at 8:35, people, and no one heard a single peep out of him until 5:45 this morning.

So… I guess we’ll keep him.

And then…

… guess which three-year-old started preschool this morning?

IMG_2202 IMG_2201 IMG_2203 IMG_2207He’s joining a little class at a local preschool (where he’ll go this next fall) for an hour, twice a week.  He’s meeting new friends and scribbling with Crayons and using the slide and eating orange crackers shaped like goldfish and counting.

And an hour on Monday and Thursday mornings gives me just enough time to be at Starbucks, before I go back to pick him up and hear about the injustices of his morning.  He didn’t waste any time at all telling me that the teacher gave him a little cup of crackers this morning, when what he had asked for was CHOCOLATE.

Apparently he feels that Snack Time should be a little more accommodating, if his parents are going to shell out tuition for two hours a week.

But… then he told me that he had played at an indoor table filled with pretend snow.  He told me that it was fun, and he “didn’t push the girl next to him.”


Y’all have a merry Monday evening.

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