Bedtime
It seems I spend a lot of time counting down the hours until
bedtime.
Tea has been made, served and abandoned.
Iggle Piggle has buggered off in his boat and I have
fantasised about Tom Hardy reading me a bedtime story… in my bed.
Now begins the battle.
C Beebies goes blank and you use this to signal that it is
time to go upstairs.
The protests of, ‘I don’t like bedtime’, are shouted in my
face (Give it twenty-five years and a few kids then let me know if you still
don’t like bed kiddo).
We slowly ascend the stairs and filter into the bathroom, the
fun really begins.
Bathroom flooded and hair washed amongst the screaming, a
small naked wet toddler is now running around the upstairs settling into your
bed where he leaves a huge wet patch.
Military negotiations begin to convince said toddler that
cleaning your teeth is a good idea, and bribes can just be heard over the enthusiastic
Blippi Youtube video.
After telling me twenty times that he doesn’t like the
toothpaste (it’s the same one he has always had) we make it into the bedroom.
The pyjamas that were picked are of course the wrong ones,
and this needs be rectified immediately to some mis matched bottoms and a top
that doesn’t really fit anymore. One where the picture has been incinerated by
the tumble dryer and only one Paw Patrol dog has a face.
A pull up is wrangled on and he is wrestled into bed.
We argue for about 5 minutes over what story to pick,
finally settling on one we have read 100 times. (The Gruffalo anyone?)
Once we near the end, whines of ‘I want another one’, echo
around the bedroom.
I sigh, getting cramp from squeezing on the toddler bed with
you but now begins my favourite part of the day.
After arranging your teddies in the order known only to you,
slowly you crawl under my arm and nestle in.
No matter what day we have had, how much you have driven me
up the wall now is the time all is forgiven, all is erased.
After a lot of sweaty fidgeting and me wondering if I will
ever get up of this bed again, I hear you snoring.
I begin the dubious task of getting up and sneaking out the
door.
Every day is the same, sometimes more arguments, sometimes
less but one thing that is the same no matter what; that as I creep out of the
room I look down at you my sweet devil child and realise how lucky I am to have
you.
Also, that you are asleep.
I love it when you are asleep.
Bedtime, done.
Now pass the Gin.
Oh bugger, he has just got up.
Sigh.
Comments
Post a Comment