Some nights are easy

Most nights my youngest daughter does her best to escape bedtime, thinking if she fights enough I might allow her to stay up indefinitely.  Nevermind that in her entire life this has NEVER happened.  Nevermind her exhaustion.  She simply doesn’t want to go to bed.  As a night owl myself, I understand.  I, however, had to wait until I was out of my parents’ house to stay up indefinitely, and so will she.

Her tactics are many but not yet too clever.  She asks me to read her a book.  She asks to watch a movie.  She dances and sings and tries to be the cutest thing in the world so Daddy won’t put her to bed.  When all else fails, she screams.  The tears flow, the snot drips, and my smiley two-year-old transforms into one of the world’s most gifted—but unsuccessful—manipulators.

She begs to sleep in Daddy’s bed.  She asks me to lay with her.  One minute she wants the door open; the next she wants it closed.  She ask for the closet light to be turned on and the window opened and with her next breath demands the light stay off and the window be closed.  Often the process is frustrating.  Occasionally it’s amusing.  I remind myself her behavior is one more stage of development in a toddler’s life, and like all such stages it will soon pass.

But every once in a while, the stars align and the earth’s gravitational pull does its job with particular effectiveness.  Tonight, as bedtime approached, the girls and I read a book on the couch and they drank their water and danced.  We all laughed and I joined the festivities.  After several minutes of spinning, I fell onto the couch feeling rather ill.  The little one, obviously exhausted, hopped up beside me and laid her head on my leg.  We sat there together, quietly, while the four-year-old continued to spin and sing and stumble.

A few seconds later, I peaked down at the weight resting on my leg, and discovered my daughter sleeping soundly.  I picked her up and carried her on my shoulder.  With eyes closed, she mumbled, “I don’t wanna go to sweep.” I told her not to worry, that she didn’t even own a broom.  As for sleeping, I ignored her wishes and slipped her into bed.  She rolled over immediately and never stirred.

A fresh breeze blew in through the window.  Her closet light was off.  And without a cry or demand, my little monkey was asleep for the night.  It was a wonderful moment, and I smiled staring at the tiny feet and hands poking out from under Dora’s cotton face.  Few things are as precious as a sleeping child, especially one that falls asleep of her own free will.

Some nights are just too easy.  If only they came along more often.

Anyone else have bedtime tales to tell?