We all know how important it is to have a consistent bedtime routine for our children, particularly when they're under the age of three. Establish rituals, create a sense of security, establish limits, yada yada yada. We're pretty good about sticking to our routine for the most part, either abbreviating or elongating it depending on the hour and the mood of the girls. (Abbreviating doesn't go over too well when they're tired or cranky -- ironic since those are the nights we're *most* inclined to abbreviate.)
Over time, the routine has evolved, as the girls' needs have changed. When they were still babies, I read to them in their cribs, but as they got more engaged and interested in books, we moved reading to the rocking chair. For a long time it was two books, and then goodnight. Nowadays, the reading routine is a bit more unpredictable -- Clio wants to sit on the floor instead of on my lap / Elsa wants to read a book herself / Both of them want to read books on their own in their cribs, etc. But it's all good, yo.
What's more complicated is the actual, final good-night, when the girls are in their cribs and the lights are out. Until they were around twenty months (I think?), they were satisfied with a couple of kisses. But ever since then, the good-night has been a constantly changing series of mini-rituals. If we ever, in our folly, dare to introduce any new element -- singing a song, for example, or having a back rub (or "rub back," as the girls call it) -- the girls will latch onto it ferociously, and demand that it be part of the routine. For awhile, anyway, until they come up with something new. And then, of course, there are the various stuffed animals and dolls to be fetched, the blankets to be arranged, the books to be brought into or taken out of the crib.
Sometimes I am probably too accommodating. But for the most part, I don't feel like quirky bedtime requests are a battle worth fighting. Better just to put the blankets on in the right order, give one more kiss on the nose, and go downstairs and get the Elmo doll if need be. But there are times -- like last night -- when even my best intentions and most concerted efforts cannot satisfy my daughters' peculiar demands.
Clio was in her mode of wanting to rewind what has just happened and re-do it in exactly the same way, but with one slight variable altered. Only it's not exactly clear what that variable is. Example: when I moved her blankets aside for her to get in her crib, she flipped out. When I moved them back, she flipped out even more. When I told her SHE could move the blankets herself, she further flipped out, because, in fact, she DID want me to move them back, she just wanted me to have done it the right way. Whatever that was.
A few minutes later, when she was in her crib and I thought she'd calmed down, we had the following absurdist exchange:
Me: You've got your Bert doll there to go night-night with you?
Clio: Yeah, I want my George, too.
Me: OK, here's your George. (I get her Curious George doll from the chair and put it next to her.)
Clio: Now I have them both!
Me: OK. Good night Cli. (I start to rub her back - this is a required part of the ritual these days)
Clio: (squirming out of my reach) NO!! DON'T SAY OK!!! DON'T SAY OK!!! WAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!
Me: All right, I won't. (I try to rub her back again.)
Clio: Nooo!!! No!!!!! No rub back!!
Me: All right, good night, Clio. (I start to leave)
Clio: No!!! No!!! WaaaahhHHH!!!! You say yeah!!! You say yeah!!!
Me: Yeah?
Clio: No!!!!! No!!!!!!! Not yet!!!!
Me: (Sigh) What do you want, Cli? Can you use your words and tell me what you want?
Clio: (Whimpers and Hugs Bert and Curious George close) Now I have them both.
Me: (With great trepidation) Yeah....now you have them both.
Clio: (Satisfied. Finally.) Can I have a rub back and a kiss?
If only they would give me a copy of each night's bedtime script to study ahead of time. It would make things so much more pleasant, for all of us.
But what really disturbed me last night was what she said after her series of fits were over, when she'd finally calmed down, and I was kissing her goodnight: "You don't love me anymore."
What???!!!
I assured her that I most certainly did love her, I would always love her, I loved her loved her loved her. This (of course) didn't satisfy her. "You still love me?" she asked. "Yes, of course I do," I said. She tried again: "You still love me?" "Yes," I replied, "I still love you." This was the response she was looking for. She snuggled into her pilow and closed her eyes.
I had NO idea where this came from, or where she picked up this phrase. She didn't sound particularly angry while she was saying it, and I suspect she didn't even really know what it meant. But -- interestingly -- she'd said something along the same lines earlier in the evening, when I came home from work, and the sitter was there: "You don't love me because I didn't eat all my eggs. I just ate one for you and one for daddy."
At the time I'd laughed it off, thinking maybe I'd heard her wrong, or she was mixing up two different things. But now I wonder: has our babysitter been saying things along the lines of "If you don't eat your [insert food here], your mommy / daddy / I won't love you anymore"? She's a wonderful sitter for the most part, but she can be a little odd at times, and her methods aren't always what we'd prefer. Plus, there is the language issue.
But I need to talk to her about this next week when she's here again. If that is what's going on, it is most definitely not cool, yo.