Don’t let the peacefulness fool you – it is VERY temporary.
Jesse and I are being held hostage every night. Our captor? The psychotic three year old down the hall.
Brecken has never been a very solid sleeper, but his quirks weren’t more than a minor inconvenience. Until recently.
Usually he will wander in to our room around one or two in the morning and say to whichever side of the bed looks more promising, “Mommy, (or Daddy) snuggle me.” Or the more specific, “I wanna snuggle in your bed.”
This is followed by us reaching over and hefting him up onto the bed to nestle between us.
Up to a few weeks ago I loved this. I loved cuddling his little body into the crescent formed by pulling my knees up a bit and wrapping myself around him. He would sleep peacefully, and half the time – those times when he went to Jesse’s side of the bed for entrance – I wouldn’t even know he was in the bed until just before I woke up, when I was juuust starting to take note of my surroundings.
Well, a few weeks ago Brecken was congested. He came in to snuggle and spent the night snoring and coughing and wriggling around. No one slept that night. And no one has slept since.
He is STILL congested. Before he recovers from one cold he catches another from licking the floor or something. He has also developed a nasty crack addiction. Or speed. I’m not really up on my drugs these days. Whatever he’s hooked on causes him to fidget relentlessly and whisper-chant little songs peppered with the occasional Tourette’s shout out. This goes on All. Night. Long. Then, in the morning, he kicks down the covers, freezing me, and attacking me like a feral badger if I try to pull them back up.
One night, having been tortured with sleep deprivation for several nights in a row, Jesse finally snapped and yelled at Brecken to stop coughing. (Like the kid was doing it on purpose. I know – the things we do when we’re FUCKING TIRED.) He stormed out of the bed and went to sleep in the guest room.
Brecken is a sensitive guy, and naturally Jesse’s explosion upset him. He cried and cried that Daddy was mad at him, and nothing I said could convince him otherwise. What really broke my heart though was feeling his torso spasm with the effort of not coughing every time he got the urge. He was trying his hardest not to cough so his daddy would love him again. Yeah, I know. Go get a tissue and take a break. That melts even the coldest heart.
So. Things were looking pretty bleak for us. We tried all of the usual tricks to keep him in his bed, all to no avail. Finally we decided to take a stand. We vowed that when he came in that night, we would march him back to his own bed and snuggle him there for a while. That was our compromise. It worked for the first night, but Brecken is no dummy.
Night two found him absolutely refusing to stay in his own bed. There was screaming, and crying, and fits of violence – even Brecken got upset. (See what I did there, Internet? A little misleading comedy for ya.) Seriously, though, the kid went nuts. At one point I put my hand over his mouth like a rapist to stop his shrill shrieks of indignation. (I don’t know why I decided to go with “rapist” over “mugger” or “Kidnapper”. Also, I am aware that this officially makes me a child abuser if I wasn’t before already.)
That night sucked. My husband – we’ll refer to him as The Weak One – wanted to give in and let the kid sleep with us after twenty minutes. Puh. Novice.
I ended up riding out the storm and finally managed to calm him and get him to sleep IN HIS OWN BED, MOTHER-EFFERS!
Child abuse 1
Weak parenting 0
The aftermath of that night was bleak. Our collective psyches were damaged and weary like a war torn country. Brecken stayed in his own bed for a few nights in a row after that, no doubt weighing the effort of fighting my mad ninja moves against the warmth and comfort (?) of the parental bed.
The fact that Brecken was staying in his own bed doesn’t mean I was sleeping any easier mind you. I am now suffering from PTSD, and find myself unable to fall asleep. I catch myself keeping one eye open. My ears are fine-tuned for any sound coming from the hallway. Every shift or creak from the house settling, or puff of air from the furnace has my entire body tensing, preparing for battle. “Please don’t be The Boy. Please don’t be The Boy.” I chant and pray fervently while clutching my pillow in a death grip.
Sadly, sometimes it is The Boy.
Jesse The Weak One will try to justify letting Brecken sleep with us if it’s not a work night. I have failed to impart to him just how important it is to stay consistent on this topic. Do you think Brecken gives a shit if it’s a week night or not? Hells no. So letting him sleep in our bed EVEN ONCE before this awful phase has passed, will only serve to compound the problem on those nights when there is no room at the inn.
Children are like wild animals. They can smell fear and weakness. Brecken knows a sucker when he sees one. He has taken to only approaching Jesse’s side of the bed and demanding entrance.
Anyway, last night was another apocalyptic battle. It lasted an hour and was so bad that Jesse was checking our finances to see if he could afford to rent a hotel room for the next fifteen years.
I would like it noted that for all of the trouble Brecken has with sleeping, Karis sleeps like the dead – even through blood curdling war cries and mixed martial arts fights. She also talks in her sleep. She has since infancy. It’s hilarious, and adorable… and maybe what wakes Brecken up every night? Hmmm. That’s a pretty sound theory.
So I’m at a loss, Internet. My website is down until tomorrow in protest of SOPA and PIPA, so I’ll update before posting if anything happens tonight. I hope to God that Brecken takes our little talk seriously (It consisted of me making empty threats and talking up how awesome it is to be a big boy and sleep in your own bed.) and doesn’t force my hand tonight.
You know, I’m really not all that attached to my bed… Maybe I’ll just turn my bed over to The Boy and start sleeping on the floor, or maybe out in the garage. Hell, I live in a mild climate; maybe I’ll start sleeping outside. It will be like camping therapy. I’ll give up my bed for a season the way farmers let fields go fallow to replenish the nutrients in the soil. That could work.
UPDATE: Ugh. That’s all I have the energy to type. There wasn’t any screaming, but I was still up from 3:50 to 6:00. How the eff is he so chipper this morning?!
