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Last night was one of the worst in quite a while. It had already been a long day, with Choo-choo arguing with me about EVERYTHING. I was apparently wrong about every single word that left my mouth, even though he would contradict himself just to prove this was true.

When I decided he was done with his snack because he’d eaten all the food from his plate and would be having dinner in only a couple more hours, he flipped. He cried. He flailed. He kicked and shouted.

Choo-choo literally stood screaming a constant tone at me for no less than five minutes. I, meanwhile, did what I always do. I tried calmly explaining to him what was going on and why he was done. I stepped away into an adjacent room to breathe and collect my bearings.

I just couldn’t take it anymore. I sobbed. I had huge tears rolling down my face, too many to differentiate between one or another. Choo-choo stopped crying long before I did.

This sadness and emotional instability of mine carried over into the night. After dinner and bath time, I got Choo-choo ready for bed. We read his chosen nighttime book, and we rocked for a while. The thing about rocking him is he doesn’t simply want to just cuddle and rock like he used to. It previously relaxed him and readied him for closing his eyes and falling asleep. Now all he wants to do in his chair is talk and squirm and play with my hair or his wall decals or the dresser. Anything he can get his hands on.

Pretty soon, I stood, calmly carried him to his bed, sang him his three lullabies (as one is just no longer good enough for him 🙄), and put him in bed. I arranged his toys, stuffed animals, and blankets exactly how he likes them, the same as I do every time he lies down to sleep. We did our hugs and kisses, and I was finally free to head back downstairs.

Diesel had already fallen asleep on the sofa while I was bathing Choo-choo, so I sat in an adjacent chair and turned on the TV (muted, of course, with the captions on lest Choo-choo heard it) for a little me time before bed. All was quiet.

Except for Choo-choo. I could hear him playing with his toys. Now, you might wonder why we put toys in his bed in the first place. We had a very good reason, though. Diesel and I started leaving toys in Choo-choo’s bed so that when he woke up in the morning and we didn’t hear him right away, he would have something to play with as opposed to the poop in his diaper, which he had gotten his hands into for months on end.

So there I was, trying to relax at almost 10:00 at night, wondering why on earth my kid was still awake. Then he started yelling for me. I run up there to find him requesting more rocking time. Yet when I rocked him, he would talk and play, the same reasons I cut our rocking short the first time.

This lasted until almost 1:30 AM. I was beyond frustrated and so very tired. It wouldn’t be more than twenty or thirty minutes after I put him back in bed when he’d start yelling for me again.

Finally–FINALLY–Choo-choo stayed quiet long enough that I assumed it was safe to try going to bed myself. I’d already been called out of bed twice, but I hoped the third time really was the charm.

I crawled in and leaned my back against Diesel’s. He had gone to bed in between my rockings of our son. I let the warmth of him run through me, soaking whatever calm I could from him. I spent most of the night holding Choo-choo and comforting him, yet all I wanted was to be held myself. I wanted Diesel to wrap his arms around me and reassure me that everything was going to be okay.

Of course, I had to wait until he woke up for work to get my hug, but I gotta say that it was totally worth waiting for. If only I could learn to comfort my son so well.

 

 

Author: stepbackandbreathe33

I am a writer, mother, wife, and fighter in the battle against depression, anxiety, OCD, and PTSD.

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