P - Bedtime Woes

Don't you say it. Don't say that Paul is such a cutie patootie. Because if you could hear the evil laughter coming out of him at this moment, you would recognize that this baby is pure genius. And NOT in a Einstien sort of way. More of a Napoleon-world-domination sort of way.

Let me back up a bit. So you can fully appreciate this tiny little twerp. As the third kid, he has had to put up with the "Oh, you're fine, stop whining" style of parenting. Which means that after putting up with Andy's less than stellar sleeping habits, I was bound and determined that this kid was going to bed and sleeping through the night. And I had done a pretty good job - I could put him in his bed and he'd go to sleep. Then Christmas break came and, as no one had to be at school, I allowed Paul to crash in the living room each night. And then we'd scoop him up and put him in his bed.

Which was okay because he crashed each night around 7:30. So we had some "Andy" time - homework, reading, snuggling, etc. Well, a couple weeks ago, Paul's internal clock adjusted itself and now he wanted to stay up later. And it was throwing me off. About a week ago or so, I finally decided I had had enough of this, by golly. There was absolutely no reason why this baby shouldn't return to his schedule of going to bed on his own. And at a reasonable time. And also because we've already made the mistake of allowing Andy to exert far too much power as heir to the Winterrowd Empire and quite frankly, there just isn't room for two power-hungry heirs.

So I went back to The Routine - singing lullubies as we said goodnight to everyone, turned out lights and turned on the fish tank in his crib. That first night, he began screaming in protest and within 4 minutes had managed to vomit everywhere. We cleaned him up and since the room smelled absolutely awful, let him fall asleep in the living room while it aired out. So yes, I hear you, chalk one up for Paul. Victory.

He's thrown up a total of 5 times now in the 10 days that I have been attempting to put him in the crib. But last night takes the cake. I began my sing-song swaying as we turned out lights in the kitchen, living room and hall. We said good night to Rachel, who he snubbed because he knew what was going on. He climbed into Kevin's arms, glaring at me and trying to stay with his dad instead of returning into the arms of Evil. And then we made our way to his room. Lights were on because I needed to fix his curtain before turning them out. So I'm singing about how much a love him, he starts crying, then coughing and before I could even approach the lights, much less actually place him in his crib, that boy vomited. Twice. For good measure.

I mean, good grief. Should I be proud of the little devil? It's pretty impressive, actually - making yourself throw up even before they toss you into bed. But honestly, I am just rolling my eyes at this kid and asking "What next?" I've said this before (and if you have never seen the awful show Family Guy, you won't get this), but I find it absolutely hysterical that baby Stewie is constantly plotting ways to kill his mom. Some people think it's terrible. No, it's downright funny. Because there are times that you look at that 16-month old and you are absolutely convinced that the baby is out to get you.