Waiting (Sometimes) Works

Two weeks and a day ago, Alex was in diapers. Always. He refused to even look at a potty, let alone talk about it. When I would ask him if he had the slightest interest in trying out the potty he would scream at me. “Noooo! I wike my diapers!”

Then, two weeks ago, Alex was potty trained. No more diapers. He did everything on the potty. He started wearing real underwear. We didn’t even have to remind him to go. He. Was. Potty. Trained. Just like that. Zach put him on the potty in his diaper, gave him treats a few times, and did Big.Huge. high fives. A little tiny push and he did it.

Sometimes? Waiting is good. Sometimes? Not pushing an issue works out for the best.

Kids do things at their own pace. And maybe this was more of a big lesson for me and less of a simple “Yay my kid is potty trained” moment. Alex is ├╝ber stubborn, and attempting to convince him to do, well, anything, just doesn’t work. Bribes don’t really work. He needs to decide for himself (or at least be under the guise that he is deciding for himself) what and when he will do things.

For this particular thing, this thing that was driving me crazy because oh my goodness I was sick of diapers? This particular thing just needed time. Patience. Just a little waiting. He outgrew diapers when he was ready, and for us? That worked well.


And his little butt in underwear? Super cute.

The Great Sleep Debate

Every night we have the same argument.

“But, Mommy. I don’t want to go to sweep.”
“Why don’t you want to go to sleep?”
“I don’t like sweeping.”
“Well, sleeping is good for you and you have to sleep every day.”
“No I don’t. I’ll just go to sweep when you go to sweep.”

Even though I remind him that we do the same thing every.single.night he still argues. “But I don’t wike to sweep in my own bed. I alweady told you dat, Mommy.” It doesn’t matter to him that if he doesn’t sleep in his own bed he won’t get a sticker. It doesn’t bother him that when he refuses to even fall asleep in his own bed he (gasp!) won’t get any treats the next day.

When he, for the first time in two weeks, fell asleep in his own bed, I was psyched. Thrilled. I thought maybe, just maybe, Zach and I could have our bedroom to ourselves.

He ran into our room by midnight. He got an awesome toy the next day because he at least spent a few hours asleep in his own room and it was a start.

Every single night we go through the motions. I tell him he has to go to bed. He tells me he doesn’t. I tell him if he falls asleep in his own bed, he can have a great! huge! awesome! reward! He tells me he doesn’t want it, he’d rather just sleep in my room. I tell him that if he doesn’t sleep in his own bed he will lose treats. Or television. Or my.god.anything.that.is.bad.enough.to.make.you.want.to.sleep! He tells me he doesn’t mind. We went days without television. We went over a week without treats.

Nothing works.

So, I have taken to singing him to sleep some nights. This only works on the days he doesn’t nap because he’s tired enough to fall asleep. Most days? This doesn’t work. And it doesn’t really matter. Because every night that I sing him to sleep he still ends up with us by morning.

In fact, he wakes up a few hours later and runs into our room.


He jumps out of his bed and loudly stomps his way quickly into our room, carrying his pillow and a blanket, and plops his little body right on the floor next to our bed where he falls asleep within ten seconds.

Bam. Done. He sleeps next to our bed every single night. (He slept in our bed a few nights and my goodness was it awful.)

“Mommy. I wove you. I wove you so so SO much. Mommy?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Tankoo for wetting me sweep on your floor. I weally wike to sweep on your floor because I wove you and I wike when you are dere next to me and I can see you and I can touch you and you can talk to me.”
“Okay, sweetie. Good night. I love you.”

He sleeps so soundly. If he has a dream, he whimpers, I shush and tell him I’m there, and he falls back asleep.

Last night, with Zach out of town, he ended up in my bed. I attempted to get him to sleep in his own bed for an hour and a half. That failed. I told him he was allowed to sleep on my floor, then. That failed. He refused to sleep anywhere but right next to me. “Daddy isn’t here. There is wots of woom in da bed, Mommy! You sweep on this side and I sweep on dat side. See? Dat’s a deal!”

I told him I was going to sleep on both sides of the bed, and that he wasn’t allowed in our bed. But in the end, he was there. He was next to me, under the blankets, and wouldn’t stop talking and winning my heart back. “Mommy? I wove you. How about a hug and then a kiss. A hug first and then a kiss… another one… one more hug and one more kiss… okay, one more…” “Mommy? Are you mad at me? Don’t be mad at me…I don’t wike you mad at me ’cause den I am sad and I wike you to be happy and smile. Mommy? I wove you. Good night…Mommy? I said I wove you and good night. Say it back. And den a hug and den a kiss.”

I want him so badly to sleep in his own bed. But short of locking him in his room and causing him to have a panic attack that will lead to an asthma attack, we have tried everything.

He’s lucky he is the cutest thing in the world. He’s lucky he knows how to make my heart melt. He’s lucky he knows how to stop my anger dead in its tracks. Because over two months of this would lead to a whole lot of anger, but instead it dissipates before it can even build up. I can’t stay mad at him.