Photo by Kelly Sikkema | Unsplash
The two-year-old has apparently forgotten how to sleep.
For a while there — the Golden Age of Rest and Predictability — she would have a morning and afternoon nap, and slept through the night at reasonably predictable times. This was useful for parents and grandparents who might want to work or exercise or have an uninterrupted conversation. Or nap.
But it came to pass that the toddler found no need for such a time-wasting non-activity like sleeping. We puzzled over this thing the experts call sleep regression. Was this a superpower in the making? Would she have this ability to stay awake forever? How could that benefit us? Such an entertaining notion!
She seemed committed to it. We’d put her down for a nap in the same place at the same time as before, dim the lights, give a beverage, play the usual music. But we got wails instead of snores. For nighttime snoozing, she’d take forever going to sleep (insisting on undivided attention in the meantime), and would be up and wandering the house way too early.
It’s hardly uncommon to have a sleep-resistant child. Teething doesn’t help rest the little mind. And they’ve learned what “no” means, and — fair is fair — they love to use it. They’re curious and need you there to explain. They can’t tell time despite the “Have a Smurfy Day” clock you spent perfectly good money to acquire.
The experts (I consulted the well-known pediatric consultant Dr. Google) will tell you to make sure they get plenty of running-around time (but don’t let the little one rope you into doing wind sprints). But then you’ll be told to avoid letting them get overexcited. Well, which is it?
I did manage to discover Kryptonite, however. There is a sure-fire way to get her to sleep at least once during the day. Strap her in the car seat (when it’s in the car — it doesn’t work as well if you try this in her bedroom). She gets the beverage of her choice, maybe a little plushie, too. And then you drive. I once got half a block from the house and decided to check on her. Out like a light. Don’t plan on doing errands unless you have another grownup on the jaunt. Better still to find a nice, low-traffic country lane and tool around for an hour or two. See? Easy! And a perfectly legit consumption of gasoline. Exxon will thank you.
It’s best, however, to simply use the moments to hone your loving skills. I was probably too much involved in the problem-solving end of things for most of the time I was trying to get her to sleep. One recent night, we had the sprout ready for bed. And we had reinforcements: grandfather, grandmother, and older sister. We collectively decided that if (when) she rolled out of bed and came to us, crying or not, we’d bore her to sleep. It took patience (which is, after all, a virtue), but one of us would take her by the hand, go back to bed, and repeat the mantra involving something about nighty-night. We would not be distracted by requests (not much, anyway) and would kindly but firmly insist she go nighty-night, nighty-night.
This sort of worked. You still have to read the audience, and in this case, she made a request that I decided to allow. Partly, it was because I didn’t know what she wanted. Pinches? No, couldn’t be. Bunches? No idea. So, I recruited her sister to translate, and it was determined that the little one wanted “princess.” Great, we’d identified the MacGuffin, but it was more of a concept than an actual thing. A stroke of luck, however, and the little one’s sharp eye saw what she wanted: that little tiara she seemed so fascinated to behold.
And it was then that we really got on our way to the Land of Nod. She adored that tiara and put it on completely wrong, using it more like a hairband. I told her that she could wear it another way, and put it on her with all the royal deference I could muster. She got a look in her eye, an expression of wonder. Something was happening that she knew was deeply important. I asked if she wanted to see herself (I already knew the answer) and got a mirror and held it for her to see.
This child is almost never speechless. She comments constantly on what she sees and what she thinks. But this was a look of joyous astonishment paired with utter silence. It had all come together. Without another word, she climbed back into bed and got under the covers. She smiled at me, and then repositioned the tiara back to where she’d had it before.
The world was now perfect, and she went to sleep.