Blah Blah Babycakes

How to kick a four year-old out of your bed

Getting Henry out of my bed has not been an easy task.  It should be no surprise, really.  Kicking boys out of my bed was never something I was particularly good at... 

The whole sleeping issue is one of my two great failures as a parent, the other being eating. (Yes, I suck at basic life functions.) Although I've celebrated some successes over the past four years, they are always short-lived and somehow Henry ends up back in my bed.  And because I'm criminally lazy, that's where he stays.  Parenting at 2am? Yeah, I'm good for pretty much nothing around that time.

After sleeping quite peacefully in New York last weekend I realized (for like the 5th time) that I had to take control of this ridiculous situation.  That's how you deal with stuff if you're me.  Let things get completely out of control, until you are almost insane and then when you're ready to break shit, do something about it.  So, I came home on Sunday with a plan.  A plan to get a 40 pound preschooler out of my bed.

No holds barred.  Take. Bull. Horns.  Once and for all!

Like a warrior prepared for battle I approached Henry and broke the news that from now on he'd be sleeping in his big boy bed. I stared at him. He stared at me.

"All night?"

"Like, the whole night."

"Can I come in your room if I wake up?"

"No getting out of bed until the sun is up.  I mean it.  No more sleeping in my bed."

He smiled at me and said, "Okay, Mom."

Um, really?  Just like that?  All this time you've been hogging my bed and robbing me of beauty sleep and you're fine with my new rule?  No problemo?

He may have politely agreed, but I knew what he was thinking, Sure, whatever lady.  I'll have you worn down by Wednesday.

Well, it's Wednesday and my precious is still sleeping in his own bed, as he has been all week, all night long. I would declare victory, but now I can't sleep, because I'm wide awake listening for the sound of footsteps from little feet that could soon be wedged in my ribs. I think that's called anticipatory anxiety.  At least now there is room for me to spread out and worry about it.

Fear Mongering: An Update

I tried explaining to the guy at Home Depot that I didn't think I was the type of person that would ever lock anyone anywhere, but he was too busy checking out the effects of my push-up bra to notice that I was possibly a crazy person. (Don't judge, it's a good tactic for great customer service at Home Depot) Anyway, there I was in Aisle 19 asking him what size drill bit to use for the screen door lock that I held in my hand and assuring him that I thought a padlock would be going too far.

As of today that new lock is still in its package.  Since last Thursday, Henry has gone to bed almost peacefully and more importantly, he has stayed there.  The child is absolutely petrified that we are going to shut the door again and the mere threat of it keeps him in his bed. 

It's as though three hours have been added to my day.  It's fantastic. 

Now I'm going to go watch TV, surf the Internet and read magazines, all at the same time.

Lockdown

"Make sure he can't hurt himself and lock the door", a thin, gorgeous mother-of-three said to me recently at a cocktail party in the home of a wealthy art collector.  "That's what I did with my youngest; it took two nights and he's slept on his own ever since".

On the way home from the party Nick told me that he thought we should try it.  I shot the idea down with my negativity, "It'll never work.  Henry will scream until he pukes or go crazy and jump out the window."  The whole idea seemed really cruel to me, but we were desperate.

Every evening I spend at least two hours returning a crying Henry back to his bed. Every night it's a fight to get him to sleep. A fight that begins at 8pm and doesn't end until finally it's time for Nick to go to bed and the two of them, exhausted, fall asleep together. 

If we have friends over for dinner either one of us has to go to bed with Henry at an early hour or we let him stay up until he finally passes out on the lawn. Neither of these are acceptable. And even though I have killer thighs from all the trips up and down the stairs, this is obviously no way to live.

I've tried everything:  Shorter naps, longer naps, no naps.  Running around the block after dinner.  Cash bribes, threats to call the police--nothing has worked.

There are a lot of absolute no nos when it comes to child rearing.  No shaking them, no leaving them alone in a hot car and no sending them to the store to buy cigarettes. Then there are all kinds of gray area things.  Things that you don't think you can do, yet fantasize about doing. Later you find out that many parents do these gray area things and they just don't admit it.  Things like locking your kid in their room so they learn to fall asleep on their own.

Tonight, after my 20th trip upstairs to usher Henry back to bed, I closed his door behind me and because there is no lock, held the handle tightly with my hand and then held my breath.  He screamed like I've never heard him scream before.  Stomping his feet he fought hard with the door handle and then ran around the room spazzing.  This lasted for 60 seconds.  I then heard him crawl into bed and tell Cow in a very calm voice,  "Mommy shut the door".

Henry cried some more and then tried to open the door twice. When Nick peeked up the stairs I told him that I needed a glass of wine.  "Should I water it down?", he asked.  "Why the hell would you do that?, I whispered back.  "Well, he's only two!" (Another suggestion from some well-meaning friends)
"Nick, the wine is for me. I might be here for a while"

10 minutes later I could hear Henry snoring.

Moo?

For Henry's food therapy I was asked to keep a log of everything he ate for a week.  In doing so, I realized that the kid drank a lot of milk.  So much milk that I'm embarrassed to tell you exactly how many ounces he was taking down.(Don't ask. It was waaaay too much)  It had crossed my mind a few times that he seemed addicted to it, but I went right on feeding his habit.  Everyone gets one drug of choice, right?

On a hunch, I did some google-searching and sure enough read some interesting theories linking cow's milk to a whole myriad of things, including: glue ear, behavior problems, sleep disorders and language delays. 

Jumping the gun, as I'm wont to do, I took Henry off cow's milk immediately.  Cold turkey. I felt like I had nothing to lose. This was last Thursday.

Every night since last Thursday Henry has slept through the night. Do you hear those angels singing hallelujah? No?  They must be in my head.  Anyway.  No night terrors.  No crying in his sleep.  Nothing.  Now, even I'm not yet ready to declare that it was, without a doubt, a milk sensitivity causing him so many problems, but you have to wonder.  I know Mercury is still in retrograde, so it could be that too.

The point is that we all got some sleep and also, that cow's milk is the devil.

Big Boy Beds Are For Losers

Apparently.

Henry and I stood in the linen aisle at Target and I held up two sets of sheets.  "Which one do you prefer, Henry?", "Little Mermaid or Cars?"

"Ummmm", Henry contemplated,  He pointed to the lady with the fins.  "Are you sure?", I asked. 

"No, Cars!"  Okay then, Cars it is !

We left with a Dora pillow, Cars sheets and the softest blue blanket in the whole entire world.  It's melty soft. I can't imagine not wanting to be underneath it. After Target it was on to the big boy bed store.  We checked out a few mattresses and picked out the one with the best jumping qualities.

Guess what? He hates his big boy bed. He hates the softest blue blanket in the world.

Henry asleep on the couch

I think he'd rather sleep just about anywhere other than his new bed.  Except, of course, for his crib.

I'm so frustrated and so very tired.

Edit:  After some time on my knees this morning, praying to the gods of sleep, Henry just now fell asleep in his bed, all by himself.

Help

When Henry was 4.5 months I used the controversial cry-it-out method of sleep training.  At that time I was meeting weekly with a group of moms in DUMBO, all with babies around the same age.  One by one we succumbed to the method, after another mom would show up at playgroup, looking perky, proclaiming the wonders of a baby that slept through the night.

I desperately wanted to be perky.

It took 3 days of training and the longest Henry ever cried was 23 minutes. 

For the next 23 months, without a fuss,  I was able to put Henry to bed at 8pm and we'd see him in the morning.  For 23 months life was pretty good.

It happened without warning and all of a sudden Henry refuses to sleep in his room. When it's time to sleep he grabs his things (cow, blanket, pacifier) and heads for my bed.   If I put him in his crib, he'll cry until he barfs.  It's not pretty and I don't know what to do.  I don't have my mommy friends in DUMBO, I only have you.

Back in the good old days