Sometimes when we let Parks cry it out (CIO) to get to sleep, as we’re having to do tonight, I genuinely believe that HE genuinely believes that he is going to die if someone doesn’t go back there to rock him. I grew up in a house full of girls, all teenagers together, and I really don’t think that I ever faced as much drama then as I do now at Parks’s bedtime.
He’s not scared of the dark. His diaper isn’t wet. He’s not hungry. He’s not in pain. He just doesn’t want to lie down and go to sleep.
He will be screaming like it’s the end of the world, but as soon as either Cal or I walk into his room, he’s Mr. Bubbly once again, ready to play, read, watch movies, or participate in whatever activity we’ll let him get away with. He’ll even (gasp!) eat, if it means he can prolong sleep for just a few minutes more.
I’m currently wondering if it’s possible that this child is actually an alien lifeform who at some point entered my body, thus creating my pregnancy and eventual labor and delivery. Because it seems impossible that any offspring of mine would fight sleep THIS MUCH. Come on, Parks. You’ve got Terry blood in you.
Won’t someone please come to my house and “make” me go to bed at 7:30 every night? Please? I promise I won’t cry!
No comments:
Post a Comment