So with all this Ferberizing, I’ve been feeling guilty about how much time we spend getting our toddler to bed. Princess D rules in the land of dawdling and our nighttime routine is rarely routine and far from smooth. There’s the 20 minutes in the toilet which we’re scared to rush because she usually tells us to wait, that her poop is coming. “Just WAIT!” Apparently her poop takes its sweet time, just like she does. And believe me, we’ve tried giving her poop a deadline and then calling it done. But then we’ve paid for it later in the evening when she really has to poop and we have to go BACK to the potty for another long stretch, taking off pj’s and diapers that we’ve spent forever and a day putting on in the first place. Then there’s the milk that she hangs onto and takes tiny sips out of until the minute she goes to bed. And, of course, we can’t brush her teeth until she finishes the milk. There’s usually an argument about not wearing a diaper and sleeping in her underwear at least once a week, and we remind her that we won’t let her try that again until she gives up the milk earlier in the evening, which she never wants to do. It’s a discussion we’ve had plenty of times but it doesn’t stop her from throwing a monster tantrum about it every time she decides to ask again. So anyway, you get the idea. It all takes a while.
And when it’s all done, I’ve recently gotten into this habit of hanging out in her room with her. It didn’t use to be this way. We used to sit with her in a rocking chair in her room for a few minutes until she got tired of us, pointed to the bed, and we were free. But then we moved to her big girl bed in her new room, and there wasn’t any room for the rocking chair. So for what I thought to be a temporary solution, I started laying on the floor of her room. Sometimes she lays next to me, and sometimes she stays in bed. The plan was to stay for just a few minutes. But being as sleep deprived as I am these days, these sessions usually ended up with me falling asleep and then waking up an hour later to realize she was crashed out next to me. I’d move her to her bed and leave. And this kept happening until one day I didn’t fall asleep, had stuff to do, and tried to leave while she was still awake. Let’s just say she wasn’t a big fan. So this is where we’ve been at. I kind of actually liked having that time with her and didn’t fight that hard to end it. Our best conversations usually happened then. And it released me from baby-duties, which I liked, because well, come on, this option let me pass out for a while and catch a quick nap. I’d take it over endless bouncing on an exercise ball any day of the week. Plus, I was flattered that she wanted me. We went through a long phase during my pregnancy when I was not the favored parent. It got to the point where D would cry when I went to get her in the morning, lay back down in the crib, and say she’d just wait for dada to come back home from work. So I wasn’t willing to give up my place at the top.
Until now, when I feel guilty that we have one baby crying herself to sleep while the other gets both our attention for a fairly big chunk of the evening. So I’ve been coming down hard on the sticking around. No more than 5 minutes. D’s grumbled a bit but dealing with it all right for the most part. And yesterday, we made some additional changes to the bedtime routine that should streamline things a bit more. No more milk after dinner. Potty first. Books as time allows after she’s all ready for bed. Things were going well last night. Still not much fight over any of these changes.
Until we had a meltdown of epic proportions. Let me preface this with one more piece of information. A few weeks ago, when G was coming home with the girls, I guess one of our neighbors drove by with this old motorcycle/scooter that I think he’s been fixing up. I don’t know, it’s old and loud an doesn’t look like it can really be out on the road anymore, so I’m guessing it must just be a hobby. Anyway, he drove past, D pointed it out. She likes pointing out motorcycles when we’re driving. And apparently, he drove past again and for some reason, this time she flipped out, went running up the driveway, and wanted to go inside to get away from the motorcycle. It was strange. She wasn’t on the street, he wasn’t coming up our driveway. But G was just glad that she wasn’t going to dawdle in the driveway and went inside. Since then, she’s randomly mentioned this motorcycle and used it as an excuse to come inside. We’ve been perplexed and said things like, “Oh it won’t hurt you, kiddo” but haven’t really dealt with it other than that.
Last night, though, she freaked out. Refused to let me leave, clutching me as I was trying to set her on the bed and completely beside herself. Worried that she heard this motorcycle and it was coming for her. It was the meltdown of all meltdowns and I had no idea how to deal. I called in G and we spent a good half hour telling her that motorcycles do not come inside the house, that this one cannot get her. That it’s probably broken anyway. We told her she could keep the door open/closed, the window open/closed, she could hide under the covers. Basically we tried to reassure her in every way we knew how. I have to say that I handled it badly. I thought this was a ploy to get us to stay with her at bedtime, and that if we did stay, we’d be giving into her. I had already stayed my allotted five minutes and then a couple minutes more when she clung to me. I wavered between worrying where this irrational fear was coming from to being impatient to worrying that she’d wake up the baby. Several times, when we tried to leave her in her room and walk out, she came running out screaming and stood there wailing in the hallway. I very not so gently pushed/dragged her back into her room. Fortunately the little one slept through all the drama.
Finally, we left. And she didn’t come running but wailed in her room and kept calling out to us, telling us the motorcycle was coming. At one point, she called me to cover her with a blanket so that “nobody could get her.” It was heartbreaking. She was sobbing while she said it, and for a split second, I wondered if someone had tried to hurt her somehow and that this fear was maybe stemming from some real incident that we didn’t know about. I think it was at that moment that I realized finally that this fear, as weird and unreasonable as it seemed to us, was very real and frightening to her. I tried to google “3yo irrational fear of motorcycles at bedtime” and nothing came up. Shockingly. It was 9pm at this point. G and I tried to go about the business of washing dishes and preparing for the next day. All hope of an efficient, seamless bedtime had of course been thrown out the window already.
At 9:15, she was still crying and calling out for us. I had a thought. I went in and told her that yes, motorcycles were loud and scary and sometimes people got hurt by them. But guess what? That’s why we have a dog. And Mia’s hearing is SO good that she could hear a motorcycle even if it was 3 streets away. And Mia would make sure that the motorcycle didn’t get close. She’d bark and bark and bark, and then if we needed to, Dada and I could go out and tell the motorcycle to go away, that we were sleeping, etc. And that did the trick. Apparently all she had wanted all along was to feel validated and have a plan. And even with all of our reassurances before, we hadn’t been able to do that for her. We just didn’t get it. I asked if she wanted Mia to sleep with her and she said no. (Mia’s loud and annoying to sleep with). But she liked the idea of Mia watching from the hallway and keeping “her ears open” from our room. She asked about the baby and I said, yes, Mia would take care of the baby too. “Did you know that, Mama? Did you know that baby is scared of motorcycles too?” I had not. Randomly, she asked about Porter, my brother’s dog. I said he wasn’t scared of motorcycles either, but he was at her uncle and aunt’s house. “Why?” Because everything calls for a why these days. Well, Porter was busy taking care of her baby cousin. She was very reassured that her baby cousin was also getting equally strong motorcycle protection. She asked if I could watch her on the monitor for a few minutes, and I told her that we always watched her on the monitor.
And that was it. She was probably asleep even before I got from her bed to the hallway. And I keep thinking now that it won’t be like this forever. There will come a day when the way we react to things will have even bigger and long-term consequences. We won’t always have the opportunity to do it over and over again until we get it right. But for now, I’m grateful that she’s gives us these second and third chances, that she doesn’t hold onto our screw-ups. The chatter this morning had nothing to do with how I’d physically dragged her back into her room or how we’d belittled/downplayed her fears. Instead, it was all about how she didn’t hear any more motorcycles all night and how Mia had kept them away. And then, just like that, we were moving onto waiting for the weekly garbage truck, which fortunately – at least for the time being – seems to have no power to hurt her.
But I have to admit that I’m worried. Because if it’s taking us this long to get these 3-year-old problems sorted out, how will we ever deal with the teenage years and all the hurdles she throws at us then? And honestly, at this rate, are we even going to manage to make it that long? What if by age 10, we have a social recluse on our hands who’s afraid to leave the house because she’s got ligyrophobia (fear of loud noises) or ochophobia (fear of moving vehicles)? Mia’s not going to be around forever. And how will we even know if we’re getting it right as we go along? Gah, I wish I could just hang out in baby-land forever and deal only with questions about nap schedules and bottle feeding. As important as those things still are to me, I know that the answers will not result in any lifelong trauma.
And when it’s all done, I’ve recently gotten into this habit of hanging out in her room with her. It didn’t use to be this way. We used to sit with her in a rocking chair in her room for a few minutes until she got tired of us, pointed to the bed, and we were free. But then we moved to her big girl bed in her new room, and there wasn’t any room for the rocking chair. So for what I thought to be a temporary solution, I started laying on the floor of her room. Sometimes she lays next to me, and sometimes she stays in bed. The plan was to stay for just a few minutes. But being as sleep deprived as I am these days, these sessions usually ended up with me falling asleep and then waking up an hour later to realize she was crashed out next to me. I’d move her to her bed and leave. And this kept happening until one day I didn’t fall asleep, had stuff to do, and tried to leave while she was still awake. Let’s just say she wasn’t a big fan. So this is where we’ve been at. I kind of actually liked having that time with her and didn’t fight that hard to end it. Our best conversations usually happened then. And it released me from baby-duties, which I liked, because well, come on, this option let me pass out for a while and catch a quick nap. I’d take it over endless bouncing on an exercise ball any day of the week. Plus, I was flattered that she wanted me. We went through a long phase during my pregnancy when I was not the favored parent. It got to the point where D would cry when I went to get her in the morning, lay back down in the crib, and say she’d just wait for dada to come back home from work. So I wasn’t willing to give up my place at the top.
Until now, when I feel guilty that we have one baby crying herself to sleep while the other gets both our attention for a fairly big chunk of the evening. So I’ve been coming down hard on the sticking around. No more than 5 minutes. D’s grumbled a bit but dealing with it all right for the most part. And yesterday, we made some additional changes to the bedtime routine that should streamline things a bit more. No more milk after dinner. Potty first. Books as time allows after she’s all ready for bed. Things were going well last night. Still not much fight over any of these changes.
Until we had a meltdown of epic proportions. Let me preface this with one more piece of information. A few weeks ago, when G was coming home with the girls, I guess one of our neighbors drove by with this old motorcycle/scooter that I think he’s been fixing up. I don’t know, it’s old and loud an doesn’t look like it can really be out on the road anymore, so I’m guessing it must just be a hobby. Anyway, he drove past, D pointed it out. She likes pointing out motorcycles when we’re driving. And apparently, he drove past again and for some reason, this time she flipped out, went running up the driveway, and wanted to go inside to get away from the motorcycle. It was strange. She wasn’t on the street, he wasn’t coming up our driveway. But G was just glad that she wasn’t going to dawdle in the driveway and went inside. Since then, she’s randomly mentioned this motorcycle and used it as an excuse to come inside. We’ve been perplexed and said things like, “Oh it won’t hurt you, kiddo” but haven’t really dealt with it other than that.
Last night, though, she freaked out. Refused to let me leave, clutching me as I was trying to set her on the bed and completely beside herself. Worried that she heard this motorcycle and it was coming for her. It was the meltdown of all meltdowns and I had no idea how to deal. I called in G and we spent a good half hour telling her that motorcycles do not come inside the house, that this one cannot get her. That it’s probably broken anyway. We told her she could keep the door open/closed, the window open/closed, she could hide under the covers. Basically we tried to reassure her in every way we knew how. I have to say that I handled it badly. I thought this was a ploy to get us to stay with her at bedtime, and that if we did stay, we’d be giving into her. I had already stayed my allotted five minutes and then a couple minutes more when she clung to me. I wavered between worrying where this irrational fear was coming from to being impatient to worrying that she’d wake up the baby. Several times, when we tried to leave her in her room and walk out, she came running out screaming and stood there wailing in the hallway. I very not so gently pushed/dragged her back into her room. Fortunately the little one slept through all the drama.
Finally, we left. And she didn’t come running but wailed in her room and kept calling out to us, telling us the motorcycle was coming. At one point, she called me to cover her with a blanket so that “nobody could get her.” It was heartbreaking. She was sobbing while she said it, and for a split second, I wondered if someone had tried to hurt her somehow and that this fear was maybe stemming from some real incident that we didn’t know about. I think it was at that moment that I realized finally that this fear, as weird and unreasonable as it seemed to us, was very real and frightening to her. I tried to google “3yo irrational fear of motorcycles at bedtime” and nothing came up. Shockingly. It was 9pm at this point. G and I tried to go about the business of washing dishes and preparing for the next day. All hope of an efficient, seamless bedtime had of course been thrown out the window already.
At 9:15, she was still crying and calling out for us. I had a thought. I went in and told her that yes, motorcycles were loud and scary and sometimes people got hurt by them. But guess what? That’s why we have a dog. And Mia’s hearing is SO good that she could hear a motorcycle even if it was 3 streets away. And Mia would make sure that the motorcycle didn’t get close. She’d bark and bark and bark, and then if we needed to, Dada and I could go out and tell the motorcycle to go away, that we were sleeping, etc. And that did the trick. Apparently all she had wanted all along was to feel validated and have a plan. And even with all of our reassurances before, we hadn’t been able to do that for her. We just didn’t get it. I asked if she wanted Mia to sleep with her and she said no. (Mia’s loud and annoying to sleep with). But she liked the idea of Mia watching from the hallway and keeping “her ears open” from our room. She asked about the baby and I said, yes, Mia would take care of the baby too. “Did you know that, Mama? Did you know that baby is scared of motorcycles too?” I had not. Randomly, she asked about Porter, my brother’s dog. I said he wasn’t scared of motorcycles either, but he was at her uncle and aunt’s house. “Why?” Because everything calls for a why these days. Well, Porter was busy taking care of her baby cousin. She was very reassured that her baby cousin was also getting equally strong motorcycle protection. She asked if I could watch her on the monitor for a few minutes, and I told her that we always watched her on the monitor.
And that was it. She was probably asleep even before I got from her bed to the hallway. And I keep thinking now that it won’t be like this forever. There will come a day when the way we react to things will have even bigger and long-term consequences. We won’t always have the opportunity to do it over and over again until we get it right. But for now, I’m grateful that she’s gives us these second and third chances, that she doesn’t hold onto our screw-ups. The chatter this morning had nothing to do with how I’d physically dragged her back into her room or how we’d belittled/downplayed her fears. Instead, it was all about how she didn’t hear any more motorcycles all night and how Mia had kept them away. And then, just like that, we were moving onto waiting for the weekly garbage truck, which fortunately – at least for the time being – seems to have no power to hurt her.
But I have to admit that I’m worried. Because if it’s taking us this long to get these 3-year-old problems sorted out, how will we ever deal with the teenage years and all the hurdles she throws at us then? And honestly, at this rate, are we even going to manage to make it that long? What if by age 10, we have a social recluse on our hands who’s afraid to leave the house because she’s got ligyrophobia (fear of loud noises) or ochophobia (fear of moving vehicles)? Mia’s not going to be around forever. And how will we even know if we’re getting it right as we go along? Gah, I wish I could just hang out in baby-land forever and deal only with questions about nap schedules and bottle feeding. As important as those things still are to me, I know that the answers will not result in any lifelong trauma.
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