Will Bribe for Sleep

by Patti

S didn't sleep through the night until she was 18 months old. Eighteen. EIGHT. TEEN. Night after delirious night I would rise, drunk with lack of sleep, and stumble through the dark to her. Yes, we tried the whole "cry it out" thing; we tried the "slowly back out the room one foot at at time" method; we tried every trick in the book, and nothing worked. NOTHING.

So we dealt with it. Well, I dealt with it. M was the best dad of a newborn ever, but after month, oh TWELVE, he was all, "WHEN IS THIS KID GONNA SLEEP?"

But something clicked at month 18, and suddenly, she was a total champion sleeper, sleeping in until well past 10 am in the mornings. It was if she was trying to make up for the billion lost hours of sleep. And it was good.

Then, suddenly, around 4 years old, she snapped. Her brain was done with sleep. Sleep? What's this? A waste of time, I tell you! And she zoomed back through time and ended up right back where we started: Not. Sleeping.

She would start out okay. I mean, sure, I would have to sit on her bed, then move to the doorway, then sit in the hallway reading a book until she felt safe enough to give in to sleep. And just when I was about to explode with bitterness and resentment, she would fall asleep. And then I would creep back into her room and stare at her in all her sleepy splendor, and suddenly she looked like an angel, all golden and rosy, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks, her skin glittery with angel dust. And all of that resentment would fall away and she was perfect and beautiful and I just loved her so.

But then, there we would be, M and I, exhausted from a full day of life, happily snoozing in our own bed when, "MOOOOOOOOOMMMMM! SLEEP WITH MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" S, straight from her slumber, would scream out in the night. Do you know what it's like to be woken up like this? Do you? I would literally pop up, my heart thumping in my throat, my arms flailing dramatically, while M grunted tragically and wrestled with the blankets; crocodiles in his sleep. And I would race to her room, expecting to find what, I don't know, but not anything good, I tell you. And there she'd be, sitting up in her bed, the angel now flown away, demanding my company. And the whole cycle would start again, except this time around, my patience was not even pretending to do its thing.

After much, much too long of this nonsense, I had to get savvy. Clearly, the kid was not going stop demanding 3 A.M. playdates, and I was not going to get a full night's sleep ever again ever, so I decided to do what any desperate parent would do in a time like this: I bribed her.  I took her to the store and let her pick out a toy. The deal was that the toy would live on the highest shelf in my closet  until she could go 10 whole days without screaming out my name in the middle of the night. I even upped the stakes and told her that not only did she have to stop screaming for me in the middle of the night, she also had to release me from the prison of the hallway at bedtime. The new rule was: Tuck in, story, kiss, see ya! She agreed this was a fair deal, and that lovely little toy became the shining beacon - for both of us.

We made a little calendar and lo and behold, it worked! I couldn't believe how easy this was! I had been so conditioned by torture, I simply couldn't believe my good fortune. But bedtime became a breeze; we were all sleeping through the night; we were all whistling the joyful whistle of "I slept so good last night!" in the mornings. So, as promised, at the end of those 10 blissful days, I brought down her toy from the closet. She had chosen a music box that, when opened, presented a colorful, popped-up Mickey Mouse who danced to his own theme. That first night, I read her a story and kissed her, and happily bid good night, and then.... "Mommy, will you sit with me for just one second and listen to my Mickey Mouse song?"
Not entirely worried, yet, I sat down on the edge of the bed. "Just for one time, through okay?"
She nodded and opened the box. Mickey danced joyfully.
"Mommy? Will you sing the song?"
"Honey, I don't know the words."
"Make them up."
"Let's just listen."
"But make them up, pleeeease?"
"Mickey is so fun and cool, he loves it when you sleep! M-I-C-K-E-Y- M-O-U-S-E... Okay honey, good night!"
"The song isn't over yet."
"It's a music box, honey, it will just keep playing and pl...." Oh, shit.
"Sing more."
"Good night!"
"SING MOOOOORE!"

The bribe had backfired. My dismal future lay before me: Not only was I now going to have tuck her in and read her a book, I was also going to have throw in on-the-fly songwriting and singing to the nightly routine. Desperate, I tried blackmail. "If you don't go to sleep RIGHT NOW, I am taking this back to the store and NO MORE MICKEY. Do you hear me?" S looked at me, her chin all quivery, the Mickey dancing more and more slowly as the music started to die. I grabbed the box and put it on her night table, cranking it a few turns so that the music might help her sleep. Then I kissed her and huffed towards the door.
"Mommy?"
"WHAT?!?"
"I love you."
Stab. I turned back to her bed and sat next to her, burying my face into her neck and kissing it. "I love you, too, lovebug."
"Mommy?"
"Hmmm?"
"One more song?"
"Mickey is a giant mouse who loves his family.. M-I-C-K-E-Y- M-O-U-S-E..."
And then, just like that, she turned over and went to sleep.