He got out of his bed 62 times, I counted. He also screamed, shouted NO and whimpered mama – basically using every weapon in his arsenal.
The one tactic I’ve learned over the last few years that really works is divorcing myself from the emotion. So, like an actress assuming a role, I sat on that stool by the door like a mildly curious psychologist. I noted that even though he was chucking his duvet and pillow on the floor, he still climbed back into his bed to scream some more. So he knew he was supposed to stay in there. I suppressed a smile as he rattled the blinds, wrestled with a drawer (trying to pull it all the way out) and aimed a plastic cup at my head. I remained silent. I put him back and put him back and put him back. After the 62nd time he stayed, balanced perilously close to the edge of the bed. Five minutes later he fell out. I put him back. He stayed. The deep breathing began.
I crept out with an enormous smile on my face.
As I climbed back into bed I saw Rod was also grinning. “He only screamed for 15 minutes!” he said.
“I am a Goddess,” I said.
He appeared by my bed. I heard him coming because he knocked a glass of water onto the ironing pile. I calmly got up, took him back to bed and he stayed. He didn’t get out once.
He appeared by my bed. “Rod, you’re up,” I muttered, turning over. I didn’t think we’d get any more sleep out of him, but wanted Rod to try. He started to talk to the Wee Man, and I cut him off. “No talking. Back to bed.” Rod was back in beside me within ten minutes. I couldn’t believe it. “Is he asleep?” I asked.
“Yep,” he said triumphantly.
I was up and dressed and dealing with KD when the wee monkey appeared, bleary eyed and clutching his teddy. I swept him up in a huge hug and praised him to the rafters. He was an angel all morning and went off to nursery (late) full of the joys of his achievement.
I feel like I’ve won the lottery.
Click here to read night 2