(In which Spike's dad makes sleep-deprived references to 30 years of pop culture.)
It's time to go to the mattresses.
You're well-nigh two years old. A little scrawny, sure, but pretty damn impressive in every other facet of your development. Hell, I'm checking to see if Harvard accepts pre-schoolers as undergrads.
Just one little thing...
... OK, one big thing ...
... one big thing that has caused me to contemplate, on no small number of occasions, tossing you out your bedroom window:
You sleep like a meth addict ...
... on Red Bull ...
... after a triple-shot of espresso.
Every night is a fight to get you down to sleep. And every night — two, three, four times a night — you're awake and screaming for something that you've decided, mid-slumber, that you just can't live without.
There was a really nice stretch of about five months, last year, when you slept through the night just about every night. Then you went all "rock me Sexy Jesus" on us and needed to be rocked to sleep every night, which was really sweet and cute until we realized that anytime we tried to put you down in your crib, you screamed bloody crucifixion and demanded more rocking.
And yeah, that rocker is comfortable, but it's not that comfortable.
Then came the Big Girl Bed. Oh, how you loved the Big Girl Bed. Oh, how your mother and I loved the Big Girl Bed.
You slept like a hibernating bear after a nice, big Boy Scout soufflé...
... for about two weeks.
And then you went all Lionel Richie on us...
... karamu, fiesta, forever ...
... let the music play on, play on, play on ...
ALL NIGHT LONG!
Well, my friend, the time has come to reacquaint you with my friend, The Sandman. Oh yeah, baby. Exit light. Enter Night. It's off to Never Never Land.
No more, "Milkers? Pleeeeeease Milkers?"
There is no Milk.
No more, "Mommy Daddy bed? Pleeeeeease Mommy Daddy bed?"
There is no Mommy Daddy bed.
No more, "Teddy Ruxpin tell a story? Pleeeeeease Teddy Ruxpin tell a story!"
There is no Teddy Ruxpin. Teddy Ruxpin has gone on a treasure hunt with Grubby. And he's not coming back until you sleep enough that your mother and father can...
...
...
... do mother and father things.
This all ends now, consiglieri. No more meetings. No more discussions. You're going to sleep at 8:30 and you're sleeping 'til 7. And God help us all if you so much as make a peep inside those 10.5 hours.
It's time to go to the mattresses. Oh yes, it's time to go to the mattresses.
Love,
dad
3 comments:
Spike,, I think it is time for you to go to your Big Girl Bed and sleep ALL night, without so much as a heavy sigh. Really, Spike. It sounds as if the all-night partying is over. Really.
Got any bright ideas of HOW to do this?
Gaky
Hey
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