Day 497: Bedtime battles

Have I talked in the past about the never-ending struggle with Maddie's bedtime? I'm sure I must have since it has been my life's overwhelming preoccupation for the past year or so. I should admit that I think I have a bit of an obsessive personality. I've thought about it a lot over the years and that's the conclusion I've come to. (By the way, if you find yourself obsessing over whether or not you obsess too much, that pretty much seals the deal on that question.) The subjects change as the years go by, and so the thought that I used to devote to say, the New Kids on the Block, left wing political ideology, and the perfect pair of kitten heels, is now focussed solely on Maddie's bedtime routine. There is really little time for anything else.

You know those commercials, the ones where some loving parent with all the answers deposits her baby into the crib, pushes the button on some garish and overpriced plastic lullabye box, and the kid is asleep before the door is shut? Yeah, well... that's not us. Here's us: Maddie has dinner, runs around screaming like a banshee while we try to tell her it's "quiet time", has her bath, watches her video, reads her book, drinks her milk, goes to bed, and... screams, cries, chats, plays for up to 2 hours. 2 hours!! We've pushed bedtime up, we've moved it back; we've sat by her crib endlessly lying her down and saying "ssshh"; we've played beethoven, baby einstein, lullabye classics, music boxes, ocean waves, whale sounds, everything short of Kenny G. Lights on, lights off, blanket, no blanket, cooler room temperature, warmer room temperature... nothing makes any difference. The girl is just averse to going to sleep. Her line of thinking seems to be, "Why sleep when I could spend that time raising hell?" She's a workaholic in the making. Or maybe a party animal.

Whatever is going on in her mind, I am losing mine. Problems like these must have answers, but for the life of me I cannot figure out what they are most of the time. Why won't she sleep? Why won't she talk? Why must she launch food from the highchair at every meal, or even worse, launch rocks at innocent passerby at the park? Why, why, why? In rare moments of clarity/sanity I think that maybe these problems don't have answers, it's just a part of growing up and a matter of waiting it out. But then the moment passes. The comfort is knowing that whether it's bedtime, mealtime, playtime, every parent is going through some variation of the same struggle. I've said it before, I'll say it again: misery loves company!