The Age of Reason

Toddlers are insane. If Ellie wasn't two feet tall with pigtails--if she was, instead, a fully grown human--and screamed "No!" in a British accent, then threw herself on the floor crying, "Never!!" as she sometimes does when things don't go her way, people would be frightened. They'd cross the street to avoid her, being careful not to make eye contact. Fortunately, we give toddlers a pass on this type of behavior, on the condition that they'll eventually outgrow it and repay us in macaroni-covered Mothers/Fathers Day projects (and maybe a televised shout-out if they ever win an Oscar or a Super Bowl.) Aside from Judgy Moms and Non-Parents Without Empathy, it's pretty much understood that anyone between the ages of, say, zero and two cannot be reasoned with, and that their parents are pretty much just along for the ride sometimes.

And it's a mostly-fun ride filled with cuteness:

This lack of reason has pretty much been the case with Ellie-Bug and her nighttime habits lately. Over the past year, she's gone from wanting to be rocked to sleep, to just wanting us to stay in the room until she falls asleep. This was a welcome change at first, but there's only so long I can stand there quietly while she sings, "I'm the map, I'm the map, I'm the MAP!!" and names off everyone and everything who loves her ("Brandon loves you...freezer loves you....ice loves you....") before I'm ready desperate to commence couch-sitting, Bear-snuggling and reality TV-watching.

At that point, I began the Gradual Walk-Out method, wherein I stood by her crib for a few minutes, then silently took one large step sideways toward her door and waited to see if she freaked out. (One time, she lifted up her head and commanded, "You stay WIGHT DERE!") If not, I waited another minute and repeated this move until I was out the door. Yippee! And over the past week or so, she's actually gotten to the point where she often doesn't mind if I just put her down and wander out. Unfortunately, this easier bedtime has somehow been traded for waking up numerous times a night and calling out to us tearfully, and while a re-tucking of blankets or a whisper from her doorway is all it takes to get her to snuggle up and go back to sleep, doing that every couple of hours--or, as it happened the other night, every ten minutes--was sending me into newborn flashbacks.

On that "every ten minutes" night, though, something amazing happened. When Bear came to bed and reported that he'd had to go in there constantly since I'd crashed two hours ago, and she cried out again right on cue, I said, "I'm gonna go tell her to stop it and see what happens." I went to her doorway and said, "Ellie-Bugs. No more fussing. No more saying MAMA. Time to close your eyes and go night-night. Mommy loves you."

And she replied: "Okaaaayyyyyyyy," flipped onto her belly with her little butt in the air, and went back to sleep. We didn't hear another peep from her all night long. Same thing happened the first time she fussed the next night.

Apparently, the child can be reasoned with. Cue the Hallelujah chorus!

Add to that the fact that I actually got Keira to wear clothes all day at home the other day, and you've got yourself a pair of miracles I'll expect to be written up in one of those Chicken Soup for the Blonde Teacher and Mother of Two Little Girls' Soul books any day now.