There I said it, I hate putting my child to bed.
Yes, it is true. That magical time that parents talk about at the end of their day, I fucking hate it. I know, I’m in the minority and some of you are sitting there thinking I have got to be the worst parent on earth. I get why you might like it, I used to like it. Past tense.
I also believe all problems in the middle east would be solved if we sent toddlers to negotiate with the terrorists. Because seriously, the tactics these kids have ALL day and then it comes to bedtime and there is a whole other level of crazy and seriously, I’m all for world peace.
My toddler is a good kid. Seriously, as far as toddlers go, I can’t complain too often but every mamma has her limit and mine is at the end of the day. It is at the end when I spent all day patiently repeating myself to the point I might as well have been talking to a rock.
Put your shoes on. Put your shoes on. Seriously, please put your shoes on. Are you listening? Did you hear me? Put your shoes on. Fine, don’t wear shoes.
Eat dinner. Take a bite of dinner. Aren’t you hungry? Eat your dinner. Do not give it to the dog. Do you want dinner? Fine, go to bed starving.
Go to the bathroom. Go to the bathroom. Go to the bathroom. Dude, pee before bed. Seriously, the bathroom, go there. I will give you candy corn if you go pee. FUCKING GO TO THE bathroom. Fine, pee the bed.
Lets get your pajamas on. Put your pajamas on. Can you please put your foot in. No, it isn’t naked time. No running. Get back here. Put your pajamas on. Fine, go to bed naked.
THE ENTIRE DAY goes this way.
So by the time we make it to her room and all things have been negotiated and she may or may not be dressed and may or may not be fed and I have run through all my patience…we sit down to read books. She knows it is three books but has already began negotiations for 20. As I read she demands food because she is now hungry even though five minutes prior she had half of a pop tart and crackers. (Thinking I’m ahead of the game) We read three books and I turn off the light. She turns back on the light to get a Band-Aid because suddenly there is an owie. Light back off. Into bed to sing songs. She flails around, farts, demands she has to poop. Into the bathroom. Asks again for food. She evil laughs. Back to bed. Lights off. Lights on for socks that we refused when we first came to the room. Lights off. Begin to sing songs. She sings over my singing. Demands I start from the beginning because she couldn’t hear me over herself. Cover her up, she kicks them off. Refuses hug till I make my way to door. Always at the door, demands hug. Hand on door knob. Demands kiss. Halfway out the door. Begins crying because Wade at daycare pushed her today. She feels the need to discuss. I make it out the door. Turn on monitor. She announces she needs covered up again. As I head back out the door it is like she knows I’m going to break so she sweetly says “Gooooooodniiiiiiiight mamma I love you!” Evil laugh.
Nothing about that was fun. Some have told me to just give in and enjoy it for she will grow up soon enough. I find zero enjoyment in this. I’m actually over it. I give 100% all day and I just want her to go to bed. Yes, that I love you at the end is fucking precious but I’m ready to go down and workout, to have my own time. Selfish some may say? Sure. But it is the cold hard truth.
Anyone else with me?