My child is the master of delaying sleep. He’s written the book on it. He knows all the tricks.
But I’m wise to his game. This is my reply to his sleep delay manifesto:
My darling Thud,
I see you in your jammies and you smell like heaven. I could cuddle you all day. In fact, let’s do that tomorrow instead of you just running away from me all day. Let’s just cuddle, ok?
But now it is night-time and mummy is tired.
Please go to sleep.
I’ve read you five books and I think that’s about enough education for today. You seem developmentally on target. I mean, what do I pay all that money to day care for if it isn’t to provide you with the sound, educational experience that I don’t have the skills to do myself? They seem to be doing a bang-up job, so I’m not feeling particularly guilty about this one.
Just go to sleep now, ok?
You have your bear. You’ve had your bottle. Your water is next to your bed.
You’re tucked in nice and snug with your favourite blankie, the room is exactly 21 degrees and your pyjamas have been de-tagged so absolutely nothing is scratching you, so don’t even try that one.
Your Sleepmaker mattress is more comfortable than mine and it’s about time you showed some gratitude for the fact that we bought you a really good one and not some piece of foam from the Salvos. Which we probably could have done, given how much time you actually spend in your bed.
If you’re really not going to go to sleep, can I just have a lie down? I’M SO TIRED.
No you absolutely cannot go to sleep in your gumboots. That’s ridiculous. Oh, okay, fine, have them, I don’t care anymore.
But now GO TO SLEEP.
I’ve checked your temperature and you’re fine. I don’t believe your ear is sore. Your hair is not sore either. I’ve kissed your ‘broken’ finger so it has now magically healed. I can confirm you are in perfect health. No, I’m not a doctor, don’t be a smart arse. I’M YOUR MOTHER AND I SAID SO.
For God’s sake, it’s time for bed.
Yes your singing voice is really cute but I REALLY don’t want to hear it right now. The wheels on the bus have stopped moving and all the row boats have docked for the night. This is not the Entertainment Centre, it’s your bedroom. Let’s save the performances, ok?
If you don’t go to sleep I’m going to cry. Do you want me to cry? You do? Why do you want me to cry? That’s actually really hurtful.
No I’m not going to rub your back or stroke your hair. I know your tricks little buddy. It won’t work and I’ll end up with a cramp. It’s time you learnt to sleep by yourself. I need to be strong on this.
But I feel myself crumbling… I’m weak. I can’t deny you’ve got skills my friend. You are a worthy opponent. I’ve been in this room forever. I don’t remember a time I wasn’t in here. I feel the vitamin D leaching out of my blood stream, it’s been so long since I saw the sun.
I don’t even know the time. It could be midnight for all I know. That’s how long we’ve been here. I’ve missed everything good on TV. We could have a new Prime Minister by now for all I know.
I’ll give you a million dollars to go to sleep. What do you want from me? How is it possible you’re not tired?
I give up.
You go downstairs and watch TV. I’m going to lie down and have a little sleep.
This post was sponsored by Sleepmaker and the new Comfort Selector which helps you select your perfect mattress online. While it’s a really helpful tool, I can not guarantee it will get your child to sleep. Soz.