So knowing full well that tomorrow will be a shit fight with a horribly early start, I decided to pack H1 off to bed a little sooner than usual so that I might prepare for said horror. He's a delight to put to bed I will admit. We pop him in and say goodnight and he has this funky little OCD-esque routine where he has to kiss Mama, kiss Daddy and then kiss Mama again. We then pull the covers over him and walk out to the sounds of him saying "Bye, bye, night night!" in his Godfather voice (don't ask 'cause I don't know) and then we close the door to the sounds of him smacking his lips with blowing kisses. Fathership and I both love it; it's easy and ever so lovely.
Starting last night, however, H1 learnt the art of switching his light on and off. After tucking him in we heard all sorts of banging and crashing but thought nothing of it since he always buggers about for a while. I eventually went up to lend an ear to the shenanigans only to see light from under his door - and, of course, more noise. Upon cracking the door open I discover he has emptied his wardrobe onto his bed, found the makings of a Boori cot and is riding a big piece of timber about like a fucking hobbyhorse! Innocent Chops looks up at me and says "Hi Mama!" just as plain as you like - as if everyone does this sort of shit instead of sleeping. Long story short, we repeated the exercise twice more until he eventually fell asleep among his collection of loot - with the light on, of course.
Tonight we repeat the same bedtime routine because really, that's all we know, and again we get the crashing and thumping about. At one point there is a very loud and mildly disturbing bang and I race in to investigate since we've already been to the hospital with a concussion courtesy of bedroom climbing. H1 has taken all of the books off his bookcase - remind me to take that away too since he evidently climbs the shelves - and is muttering all sorts of nonsense in his I'm-so-cute voice. Fathership has joined the party by this time and is blessed with a range of stories and bits and pieces pointed out in the books. We inform H1 that it is, in fact, time to sleep and get that heart wrenchingly loud and bellowing cry they seem to pull from deep within their soul - shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! Like it's not enough I have to deal with that on the unfortunate mornings I drop him at kindy.
We eventually allow him to traipse after us back to the lounge room and wouldn't you know it, he's punched the Irresistible Switch! You know, when they get up close in your face, look deep into your eyes and tell you all sorts of gorgeous things? He proceeds to prattle on and on about nothing in particular and makes it ever harder for us to return him to his room. It's "Mama" this and "Daddy" that and frankly, I can't stand it. Funny how he really wasn't even half this cute before we put him to bed - and yet I still can't bring myself to deal with the problem. It's the earnest little face, it's way too much! Even as I type, he's lying on the floor beside his daddy narrating Thomas the Tank Engine for him.
What's up with me? Am I getting pathetic in my old age; is parenthood whittling away at the woman I once was? Ahh, I remember before children when I used to gallop aboard my high horse and spout all sorts of shit about how I'd never allow them to run amok, I'd never let them run rings around me...
Sanctimonious bitch.
