Womze - Cross Cultural Parenting

I won!  I won!!  I won!!!  It’s too early to declare victory but I have a good feeling about this one.  Five and half years after birth and Darling Angel is out of our bed!  Tonight, she’s sleeping in her own bed.  It’s not the first time she’ll sleep in her own bed, but somehow old habits die hard.  But not this time.  Not if I maintain my resolve.  Not if Adoring Father supports the program 100%.  You would think he would, right?  Given that he’s getting back his space on the bed.  Or some of it anyway, considering that we still have Baby Brother to deal with.  That’s another story, but I hope to come back with some happy stories.

A previous attempt
One evening, a few weeks ago when Darling Angel proudly proclaimed (as she frequently does) herself as a big girl, I used the opportunity to broach the topic of her returning to her room.  “Big girls sleep in their own bed”, I told her.  “But I can’t sleep by myself”, she wailed.  I pointed out that she had slept by herself for an extended period when she was 3 years old, but now she wants to act like a baby by sleeping in mommy and daddy’s bed.  “But I’m afraid”, she continued to wail.  “Of what?”, I enquired.  “Monsters”, she claimed.  I laughed, “but there are no monsters.” 

“There are.  There are.” she said emphatically.  “Ok”, I responded.  “But the monster is afraid of daddy and daddy sent the monster away”.  Invoking ‘daddy’ usually works for many things.  And it did, sort of.  She did not respond but looked thoughtful as she imagined daddy chasing the monster away.  I thought we were done.  I talked about how proud I was that she was going to sleep in her room just like a big girl.

But when it was time for bed, she brought up the monster again.  I reminded her about daddy chasing the monster.  But she shrieked, panting heavily (she’s a drama queen), “But I dreamed that the monster ate daddy.  It’s a huge humongous t-rex dinosaur and it ate daddy”.  Tears were streaming down her face as she made herself comfortable on mommy and daddy’s bed once again.

I know that she made up this dream, but she had won this round.  I will wait for another opportunity.

How I did it
Hubby’s away and the kids and I settle to our usual routine.  Dinner, TV while I cleared up, then everyone into bed with mommy.  As we cuddle up to sleep, Darling Angel requests a story.  “A long one this time” she asks, trying to put off bedtime.  I decide to create my opportunity now.  “I can only tell you a story if you’re in your own bed”.

She stares at me.  She still doesn’t get it.  “Big girls sleep in their own bed and I can only tell you story, tuck you in and kiss you goodnight if you’re in your own bed”, I elaborate.  She immediately begins to wail, “But I can’t sleep in my room by myself!  Somebody has to sleep with me.”

“I can think of somebody who can sleep with you”, I say.  “Daddy?”, she asks.  “Oh no, I was thinking of Katie”, that’s her doll.  “But Katie can’t talk”, she continues to wail.  “Do you want me to buy you a talking doll?”  This conversation drags on for a bit when I calmly declare that I know what to do.  Baby Brother gets her room if she doesn’t want it.  “But I don’t want him to have my room”, she screams.  I ignore her and continue thinking out aloud.  She can have Baby Brother’s crib.  I can even move Baby Brother’s crib into our room so that she won’t be sleeping alone.  And we can make Baby Brother’s now old room into a nice playroom.  Or a study?  I ask her. 

“No no no no!”, she’s chanting.  “I don’t want you to give my room to Baby Brother”.  I tell her I can’t think of any other alternative.  Or can she?  It turned out that she could think of an alternative.  “Maybe I’ll sleep in my room”, she whispers.  “Wonderful”, I exclaim.  “And I can tell you a long story too”. 

So she climbs into her own bed, I tuck the covers around her and I tell her a story.  She looks very happy.  No mention of monsters.  I ask her if she wants her bedroom door open.  “Closed”, she says and she goes to sleep.

“How do I find time to write?” I wonder to myself as I ponder over the various writing tasks I just can’t seem to get done.  There are thoughts jammed in my head that I wish to pour out on this blog and I only dream that one day, someone invents the thought-to-text converter to make that task easier.  I want to write reviews of African folktale books I’ve read for my folktales site.  And I want to try my hands at writing articles for pay, if only I could find time to write the articles.

Everyday this past week, I would plan that “this” would be the day I sat down to write.  But sometime after getting back from work, getting dinner into Darling Angel and Baby Brother, reading with Darling Angel, getting next day’s stuff ready, all my energy would be drained and I collapse into bed to repeat the process the following day. 

But on Thursday, I was so exhausted and I fell asleep early.  Darling Angel’s cries as she stood over me, trying to shake me awake crept into my subconcious.  It was like a dream - she was crying but I couldn’t wake her to ask what the matter was.  The following morning she told me in a high-pitched whine, “Mommy!  I wanted to read you my book and I need your help because it has big words but you didn’t wake up!!”  Anyway, I had a good sleep and I woke up well rested and early.

I woke up early.  It was 3:30am.  “What to do with this time?”, I wondered.  “Write!”, I silently exclaimed to myself, excited.  Baby Brother is laying next to me, he’s still cosleeping.  I get out of bed and pick up my laptop, then I sit on the floor at foot of the bed.  I make myself comfortable and begin to type.  I pledge to do this everyday - early to bed, early to wake, to write before the day begins.

Fifteen minutes had barely passed when Baby Brother began to grunt.  “Ma”.  “Mo”.  A little cry.  “NO.  Please No!  Please do not wake up”, I screamed in my head as I ducked my head down.  He mustn’t see me.  I prayed, “please God, let him go back to sleep”.

There I was, crouching at the foot of the bed, hiding from my one year son, holding my breath, praying that I would not be discovered.  And then, silence.

I waited some more to be sure, then I let out the breath I was holding and raised my head up.  To meet the gaze of the boy, sitting up patiently, quietly, thinking in baby thoughts, “mommy, I’ve got you”.  He threw his arms up (”carry me” signal) and let out a scream.  I held him and tried to comfort him.  He needed some milk to forgive my transgression.  We took a trip downstairs to get him milk.  I held him, I fed him as he calmed down. 

As he went back to sleep, I looked at the time.  Somehow, time had passed quickly as it often does.  It was a quarter past 5.  I needed to start getting ready in another 15 minutes.  I felt tired.  I layed back in bed, hoping a 15 minute power nap would reenergize me.  15 minutes stretched into 45.  I start out my day already behind time.  I guess nothing changes.