sleep, part eleventy-trillion

Oh, Maddie. I love you.

Really, at that point, that’s all there is left to say. That’s all I could say to her last night when, for the second night in a row, she was screeching and squawking in total indignation at being placed in her crib.

:::

We’ve been carrying out her normal bedtime routine: play (sometimes outside), bath (some nights more necessary than others, see outside), dressing and lotioning, books, bottle, rocking while singing/talking, then bed. But the last two nights, she’s been fighting me once we get to the “books” phase.

“A BABA!” she yells, racing off through the hallway toward the stairs, leaving me and the books in the dust. “DADA! A BABA! A BABA!” Everything is at top volume and speed; obviously the “calming” routine of the previous hour or so has lost its effect.

She is very enthusiastic about the last bottle of the day now – it’s her only bottle of the day, which has made her love it fiercely. She wants to snuggle with the empty bottle once she’s drunk it all, and I wonder whether removing the others from her daily routine was a mistake.

Then I shrug and decide to leave that for another night.

She wants to read now while she drinks the bottle. I oblige – honestly, it seems like a brilliant plan. Once she’s ready to be done with bottles for good, we can transition rocker time into story time. I like the idea, and believe it may ensure me an extra year or so of pre-bed cuddle time. I like it.

She loves it. “Moon?” she asks, searching for her copy of Goodnight Moon. “Moon? Mo’? Mo’?”

We read it eight times last night.

:::

Madeline’s antics when left alone to her own devices are quite hilarious. I’ve been at a total loss the last two nights. As promised by Moxie, I feel like a total noob parent in the face of this 18-month sleep regression thing (that’s what I’m calling it, because if I can’t slap a label on it and organize it into the category of This Too Shall Pass I will go batshit crazy) and at a total loss at to what to do. As to what she needs.

Last night, what she apparently needed was to shout and bellow like a wounded bear from the confines of her cozy crib. I tried to rock her and she thrashed and flailed, most memorably head-butting me in the nose. I patted her back while seeing stars, trying to understand where all this anger and frustration was coming from. “Geh-DOOOOW!” she cried, struggling against me.

Oh. That. She wants to play, to run, to work herself into a manically overtired mess.

Um, no. Not tonight.

So we rock, and read a few more books, and all throughout she bellows and struggles and so very clearly wants nothing to do with me that I finally put her down. Upon touching the mattress she begins a new lament: “DAAAA DAAAA! DADA!!”

He makes the journey up the stairs, runs through the same options. Finally he comes to my same conclusion and places her in the crib, kisses her goodnight, returns downstairs.

Through the monitor we hear her chattering, hear the rattle of the dolls and stuffed toys in her crib. Then, a phrase we haven’t heard in so long: “A doooga! Dooga dooga DOOGA!”

We are fairly certain that this a-dooga is her version of the vilest obscenity she can come up with, the only term to lend illustration to the fact that one’s parents will not let you stay up and play.

:::

Twenty minutes later I was back in her room, collecting toys from the floor. Through the monitor I’d heard them hit, one by one – rattle by plush beanie thunk. The final noise had been that of her binky – ker-PLINK! – a merry little sound, followed by a decidedly less-merry “MUMMA! Mumma! Ep, pees!” (That would be “help, please”). And so I went back in, returned the toys to her crib and the binky to her waiting mouth. More hugs, more rocking, more kisses. She sat back down in her crib and smiled at me as I walked out.

:::

Finally, around 9:30pm, the chattering has stopped. She’d been talking (I have to assume with her baby) and giggling a bit. We’d heard a few cushioned thumps that we had to assume were her settling in, lying down. We were tired. We headed up to bed.

I washed my face and changed, then headed for her bedroom. It’s the last thing I do each night – peek into her room, edge close to the crib. I watch her for a few moments, resting my palm flat against her back to feel her even, measured breaths: the in, the out. I tuck blankets around her and make sure her feet aren’t too cold.

Except last night.

Last night she was still awake, sitting up in bed, playing with her baby’s hat.

:::

Jimmy and I hid in our room after that, listening to the absolute silence on the monitor and wondering what in the world she was doing in there, being awake. Why she was so quiet. It was very unsettling to say the least… she’s never quiet.

Just another moment of realization that she’s headed off into a big old world that doesn’t always include us… even if it’s just within the confines of her crib.