Well, it finally happened. My little man schooled me as a one year old. Just 12 months in existence on this planet earth and he's schooling me;
an adult woman who has been around the sun more times than he has been able to stand on his own two feet.
It was 9pm. He didn’t have dinner until 8pm which is unusually late because I had a last minute change of plans where I had to pick up my hubby from his basketball game. So our dinner time routine was thrown out of whack (I can hear all the experienced mothers say, "Well, there’s your first problem right there.
As a result, there was a 2 hour struggle to get my little pancake to go to sleep. Usually he’s down at 7pm and doesn’t stir until 11pm for a quick feed. Then he's down and out again until 6am. Great kid, right
? Well, only if his routine isn't messed with as I've come to learn. A whole week on and we're still trying to return to our happy state of 'normal.' It's been a nightmare getting back to the routine
I felt like I tried everything.
I tried “boobing” him to sleep (letting him drink as long as it takes for him to fall asleep), rocking him in the chair, rocking him in my arms and even allowing him up to watch a few minutes of TV on the couch with his dad (which usually works well to wind bubs down). Nothing
He was so wired from the disruption to his routine, I wondered if I had just created a little late night monster who would never sleep again.
I mean, what an adventure driving to pick dad up so late in the evening when he should have been in bed. It's like he knew exactly what was going on.
The part that really made me sit up and realise that my little one year old was in fact, completely in charge of the situation, was in the last ditch effort I made to boob him to sleep the third time in 3 hours. I tried four different kinds of dummy’s because I couldn’t find his favourite one (I should have gotten one of these
so I would never lose it again) but he kept spitting out the non-favourites.
I did (eventually) find his favourite dummy and was playing with it while he fed until he realised what I was doing because of the distinct plastic on plastic noise. His arm reached down to where it was resting on his chest and deftly, with a dexterity that floored me, clasped it, snapped off the boob, opened his mouth and craftfully popped the dummy in his mouth. He turned his head away and went into full sleep mode - one that I have seen all too many times before. It was all so final and seemed to suggest that, if he could talk, he was aptly saying, “That’s enough now lady. I don’t need you any longer. You're dismissed so please vacate the room. I need my beauty sleep."
Oh really little man? You're tired NOW?!?! So very sorry for disturbing your ability to sleep.