Night Terrors

Life with a toddler is all about routine. Nap times, dinner times, bed times, we stick tight to that schedule, and sometimes if feels like our routine stretches the week (and weekends) into one long, continuous cycle.

Come home, play, dinner, play, bath, play, read, sleep.

I'm okay with a routine. As a kid I loved that my house was stable and steady. My teenage years were filled with routine practices. Ugh, my twenties were a routine of mistakes. But now, I get to chase my kid around the house, play with his toys, read him some books and get to bed early. At this stage in my life, I’m perfectly content knowing that I will be up at around six every morning.

And last night I was doing just that. Bath time was all sorts of wacky because, well, you see the silly fish was pulling a train and that was just a riot because—okay wait, I’m off track here. But things were humming along just like any other night. My wife got our son all tucked in and he was out like a lump.

Now because this blog is based in reality I’ll admit that my wife and I were asleep soon after. Long ago was the day I felt shame for whatever time the clock read when I hit the pillow. But then something went bump in the night. At first we only heard, Water. Water, water, water, water!

I hopped out of bed to console my son while my wife headed for the water our son so urgently needed..

His room was awash in this eerie blue tint from the night light on his fish tank. It was like I was wearing night vision goggles when I saw my kid standing up in his crib with a vacant stare.

“You okay, buddy?” I said, just a little creeped out. 

Water!

I went to pick him up. And that's when the diaper sludge hit the fan.

He flung himself back, taking a blanket with him as he crashed into his crib, flailing and kicking. My eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the blue so I wasn’t all together sure that it was in fact my son instead of some kind of horrid creature of the night.

He screamed and moaned, and when I heard him call Mommy I was all too eager to step aside.

The screaming continued. And for the next ten minutes I questioned my sanity, my wife’s sanity, my son’s sanity—if any sanity existed in the world. He was inconsolable. But my wife stuck with him, and received a fat lip for her efforts. But she was able to ask him questions about his bad dream. Here’s what we found out:

Water was involved.  

Eventually she coaxed him back to sleep. By morning my cute, cheery little son had been returned. He didn’t seem recall last night, which I found strange. I think I'd remember morphing into a monster overnight. But nope, he just said, “Sit Daddy.”

And I gladly did. We ate breakfast together, getting back to our normal routine.

To be continued...

How Can We Better Assist You?

Hey buddy, what's wrong?  Is something bothering you? Please, let Daddy know so he can help you feel better. Or shriek, that works too..

Look, I get it. You’re unhappy about something, is it your living conditions? Is your humidifier not set to your liking? What about the toys, are there too many? I know it can be hard to choose which one to play with. What about the book choices?  Pandora station. High chair position? Pampers or Huggies?  Some real tough sledding here. Wait, it’s those awful Pottery Barn curtains isn’t it?  Be careful, your mother likes them. Besides, I'm still woozy from donating all that plasma...

So what else?  As the lower half of your personal staff, I’m on call and dedicated to you and your happiness. We aim to please, and I want to get this right, yet sometimes we may come on too strong. Like in the mornings, when we bust in and start celebrating and showering you with too much praise for sleeping.  But it's such an incredible feat. Sleeping.

Perhaps it’s the way we show affection, we get carried away at times. Do we kiss on your cheeks too eagerly? After all, I know about your sensitive skin...Aha! I know what it is. We’re wiping your butt too hard as we literally pamper you, that’s it, isn’t it? No? Son, please, try and tell me so that we can remedy whatever ails you.

Let’s move on to breakfast. Hmm, is it the way your bananas are diced? We can try small wedges from here on out, okay? What else, is Mommy spoon feeding your yogurt too fast? Not fast enough? I’ll have a talk with her.

What about getting dressed, that’s not much fun is it? The way mom zips up your jacket while Daddy rams your feet into your shoes. Is your wardrobe team not meeting your needs? It’s hard to find good people these days, we’ll straighten things out for you.

Okay, this is good, I’m happy that you’re voicing your concerns.  Let's take our time and get this right. How's the nose wiping? I agree, it would be much easier to use your sleeve. But Mom insists on doing if for you. And dinner has been a little bumpy lately. Well of course you should be allowed to hand off the yucky stuff to the dogs, in a perfect world anyhow. I know you like cheese and bread, but your personal chef insists on those green things as well. I’ll see what I can do, okay?

Bath time seems to be good, no problems there. You’re like a fish flailing around in the tub, my little Nemo. So that takes us to bedtime. Our bed? No your bed is much better, trust me. Besides, the way you throw your head around like a runaway bowling ball, Dad may not have any teeth left. But I’ll check on you every ten minutes, okay?

So let’s see. You’re fed, clothed, bathed, and entertained. Not bad for a 1 year old. Not bad at all. And between you and me, I would enjoy it Son, because when you're older and cry at these really  ridiculous things, we're going to laugh.

Count on it...

Sounds of the Night

My son's breaths are sound, his eyes are closed.  All that remains is my withdrawal from the now tranquil confines of my son's room.  But this is no small feat, as my retreat requires the agility a of a trapeze artist and the stealthiness of a ninja, knowing that one errant step can set of a chain of events that will tilt the house from its peaceful balance and catapult the hush of the night into a rupturing calamity of chaos. I take my first timid step towards his door, careful not to release my guard and risk tossing waking the 20 lb sleeping ball of cute tucked away in the crib.  

Pitfalls await, positioned in the shadows and poised to strike. I must keep my composure and discipline. I've learned from experience that failing to abide could prove disastrous

But tonight I am bushed. My steps are heavy and tired, and before I have time to react I'm ambushed as my foot kicks an object across the floor and I’m bombarded by haunting wails of laughing children.  It is mocking and menacing, the laughter, and I freeze mid stride, holding my position as the wooden planks moan in the dark.  A wedge of moonlight provides my only source of guidance.  I hear the peaceful stirring of crickets in the woods and I long to simply climb in bed and lay a head to a pillow, just as I did not too long ago.

I take a shaky breath and proceed, and my second step lends hope, a soft, muted stride towards my escape.  My confidence bounds as I tread forward, within reach of the door, where freedom and rest await me, where dreams roam and meander without fear of being snatched and lost forever in the screams and wails.  I'm almost there...

A crash rattles the room. I jerk my head in horror, as shrieking monkeys spring to life, spraying light and cackling as I fumble about trying to disarm him. How many of these freakin' toys sing? I turn back, fully expecting to pay for my carelessness.  Somehow all is clear. I turn to the door and continue, knowing there won’t be another chance.

I implore a new tactic, one that involves speed and haste.  I bolt, slipping through the doorway and hightailing it for the bed, stubbing my tow as I dive and take cover.  I land awkwardly as the dog bites my leg.  My wife stirs.  She doesn't ask why I dove into bed,  but rather why I'm holding a severed monkey's head. I mumble something about the things I can't unsee.  After my debriefing I lie in bed, my nerves only beginning to settle. I wipe the cold sweat from my forehead, catching my breath.  Mission accomplished.  I turn over, close my eyes, and hear a wail from across the hall...