I would give my right arm to be able to go to bed at 7 pm every night and sleep as long as I wanted in the morning. And it isn't just the bedtime I would cherish, but being able to sleep alone ... in my own bed, without anyone snoring, texting, or iPading.
KZ has the best room in the apartment for sleeping. It is off the street, west facing, overlooking a courtyard that is never used. Dark, quiet, all to herself. How many people have that kind of set up in New York? I know entire families of four or five squeezed into one-bedrooms or studios. But no, as soon as she hears the words, "KZ, it's time for bed," the tears and false screams begin. These are not the screams of someone that just realized they had a bad Botox injection. No, these are the worse fake tears a toddler can exhibit.
"KZ, if you really want to make it to Broadway, you better start walking. You'll never get there with these tears."
She stops and looks at me as if she really is trying to process what I am saying.
Sob ... "I go" ... sob ... "kiss Jake" ... sob ... "and" ... sob ... "Kadou," she says through her tears.
Jake and Kadou our are two Shih Tzu dogs. They are 10 and 9, respectively and very sweet. They put up with her. She walks over, tears streaming down her face, to kiss and hug each dog before bed. We make it to the bathroom to brush teeth and go potty for the first of the many "last times" before she finally walks into her room. We put on PJ's, read stories, and she will only then crawl into bed.
"I need" ... sob ... "I need" ... sob ... "I need", she says.
"What do you need, sweetie?"
"I need" ...
And as if pulling it out of a hat, she'll pick some random object from more water to a tool box. Yes, a tool box. Once I give her a few non-hazardous items, she finally settles down.
The poor kid is exhausted. She has a long day with school from 9-5 five days a week. She really needs and wants her sleep, but for some reason, only know to her, she wants to cry before bed.
When I was a kid, we lived in a very small, thin walled, one-bath ranch style home on the South Side of Chicago. There were only four of us, but when I needed the bathroom, it only took one other person to cause a traffic jam. Not great bathroom memories. My dad worked the 3 pm - 11 pm shift at the Reynolds Aluminium steel mill. He'd get home approximately 11:15 pm each night. I would to stay awake to see him. Mom would let me get up, say hi, and watch a bit of Johnny Carson. I just wanted to be with my dad, but I realize now that after a long day, dad just wanted to be with dad, only dad.
Later on tonight, after I'm finally asleep, KZ will get up to go to the potty. She'll then sneak into bed without my realizing it, move the dogs over, and snuggle in behind my back. I'll wake up in the morning to her smiling face and the words, "Get up, Mommy!" It is sweeter than any marimba tune on my iPhone alarm clock. Now if only she could be that sweet going to bed.
I know what you mean. When we have to put our grandson Oliver to bed he's such a manipulator. He needs water, he's hungry, he's not tired. It's amazing the stuff they pull out.
ReplyDeleteNaomi is a brilliant sleeper, fluffing her own pillow and trying to tuck herself in if I am running behind her bedtime. However, even she needs to be "primed" for sleep. Seems like the more tired she is, the longer it takes for her to go down. If anything interferes with her nap, bedtime is an hour later.
ReplyDeleteI remember not being able to sleep my first few nights in NYC with all the police sirens, gunshots, etc. (This was in pre-Giuliani days.) You'll know you have gone native when you can't sleep without city noise.