After several days of loving up on my girls, we descended straight into Hell. Isn’t that the crux of the challenge of parenting? Just when you think you’ve reached some new state of loving adoration and peace, they learn an evil new trick.
For the past three nights running, all three girls have gotten up 8,000 times after bed for reasons ranging from “I need ice in my water cup” to “I love you bigger than the world” (which, if not told to you at 11pm is a very adorable thing to hear).
I’m a member of the Church of the Early Bedtime. I’m a worshiper of the Goddess of Sleep Ritual and an acolyte in the Parents Free Time is Essential to Mental Health spiritual practice. Kids getting good sleep is my thing. My main trick (aside from acting goofy so they laugh off a tantrum).
The past few nights we all devolved into an exhausted cranky, crying, yelling family from Hell. And I was Queen.
So tonight? Wind sprints and milk with a dash of Benadryl. I kept the girls up one hour later then usual and made them run between the two fences while I counted loudly and cheered.
And peace is restored. For now.