Yep, Ronny just called it when he said, “you’re getting beat by a one-year-old.” Granted, she’s almost exactly a month away from being two, but she is still one after all. I’ve given up on trying to get her to go to bed tonight. I think she’s just so excited and wound up from the trip, but I’m sure the apple juice Ronny gave her right before bed isn’t helping.
Usually bedtime consists of a few stories followed by my glorious singing which leads to one very sleepy kid who sweetly rests her head on my shoulder and occasionally tells me when she’s ready to go to sleep.
I only brought four books on this trip: Olivia, Pat the Bunny, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and Hug. We’ve read Hug over and over and over and over and we’ve read Olivia nearly as much. Pat the Bunny has only been cracked once, and I almost forgot that we brought The VHC. Tonight, we started Hug, but the stinker wouldn’t sit still. Instead, she insisted on ripping down the
dishtowel I have duct taped over the window curtains, which made me mad because I’m neurotic about having people being able to see in my windows at night. She thought it was hilarious but I was pissed. Then she just wanted to jump on the bed and play “tap” on my stomach. Ever been to Gymboree? If you have, you’ll know the tapping game. But it’s not a good game to play on a bloated pregnant belly. Then, even though I explained to her that Daddy wasn’t in the RV, that he was in the hot tub (yes, we’re staying at an “RV Resort” tonight), she insisted on ripping open the curtains and searching for him, knocking who-knows-what over as she ran through the 18 (or so) square feet in which we’ve been living for the last week or so. I pick her up and explain that it’s time for bed, and she screams, “Otay fiiiine!” which, as I’ve explained before, means “no!” So I turn off the light and try to sing her favorite songs and she screams and kicks and squirms. The battle continued for probably about 45 minutes before I finally just let her turn on the damned iPad.
This child is a technology addict and I have no idea what to do about it. When Ronny came back I told him that was it, I give up. That’s when he said it. “You’re getting beat by a one-year-old.”
“At least I’m trying,” I said.
“Well, I almost had her to sleep earlier.”
“Well, la-dee-friggin’-da. Now she’s up and I’m over it.”
So I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and let the wild child loose. Now, after I’ve gone way past caring about getting her to bed at a reasonable hour, she’s up front lying on the couch with Daddy, watching a Baby Einstein DVD. Occasionally I hear a tiny yawn or a small tidbit of conversation between the two of them. It’s nice to hear, and I finally get a moment of silence.