Trick your evil toddler into sleeping
It was so easy when they were trapped in a cot, but now they’re on the loose…
The first thing you notice about two-year-olds is that they’re great at taking the piss.
The placid baby who pretty much went along with all your dumb suggestions has been replaced by a satanic, strong-willed entity who is:
Devoid of any conscience.
Knows you’re a pushover.
Is too young to be prosecuted in an adult court.
And bedtime is where the battle lines are drawn.
I remember being horrified when my wife suggested that it might be time for our first son to graduate from his cot to a big boy bed.
How on earth were we going to keep him prisoner with no bars?? Just because he’d already worked out that he could escape by standing on his stuffed penguin didn’t mean the cot couldn’t be accessorised with barbed wire and a couple of armed sentries.
We’d successfully used controlled crying during those hellish first months after birth, but were the first to admit that any small victories weren’t so much down to our skills as his inability to smash his way out of his nocturnal cell, and his lack of crampons.
But now, suddenly, all I’d have in my arsenal was the fabled ancient Mongolian technique otherwise known as ‘begging and pleading’. Followed by much ‘uncontrolled crying’ from his sleep-deprived mother.
And I knew it would be hopeless if I tried reasoning that he should settle down because a) I had an 8am meeting with the boss, b) Baby Reindeer was about to start, and c) the Corona I poured myself 20 minutes ago was fast approaching room temperature.
All the experts say you should teach them ‘bath, book and bed’ so they succumb to sleep by themselves. But most of said experts probably have grown up grandchildren by now and have long forgotten how stupidly unrealistic this is in practice.
They also drone on about sleep issues being caused by iron deficiency, but, again, you try force-feeding spinach to a three-year-old.
Every time I patiently led my son back to bed, reassured him that I’d slain the monster hiding in his wardrobe and then silently left the room, my already weak resolve had dissolved.
In desperation, I resorted to telling him boring stories about boys falling asleep in a monotonous, slooooow voice.
It failed of course. Mainly because I usually nodded off before him, and he was left desperate to know the next exciting plot twist in my soporific dirge.
My other, equally spineless, tactic was to strap him into the car seat and drive around the neighbourhood until his eyes closed and his stubborn head finally lolled back as if shot at point-blank range.
I became a master at stealthily manoeuvring him through the front door, up the stairs and under the bed sheets, with hardly any serious head wounds from collisions with the banister.
One evening, barely three hours into the drive, my mum phoned and told me that when she’d had a similar problem with me, she’d given me a teaspoon of sherry and I’d gone out like a light.
Not having a bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream to hand, I figured slightly diluted brandy might be an acceptable substitute. And it certainly did have an effect: he was up dancing, singing and laughing until after 2am.
Needless to say, my wife was far from impressed so I was assigned to stay up (without brandy) until he was all partied out.
It was during those glacially slow, sleepless nights that other, less conventional ideas occurred. Modesty prevents me from disclosing how many I successfully deployed...
1. Set a drone hovering over their bed and tell them its lasers are programmed to zap anything that moves.
2. Soothe them with an audiobook of Eat, Pray, Love. Sleep (or even death) will be a welcome release.
3. Put a rug with lifelike sharks on it next to the bed and solemnly warn they come alive at night.
4. Put a tank containing actual sharks next to the bed.
5. Snap a tooth off Grandpa’s dentures and convince the kid he’s just lost his first molar and the tooth fairy clocks off at 9pm.
6. Inform him that the dead monster in the wardrobe probably had a wife so he should be extra quiet in case she’s a bit narked.
7. Employ a homeless person to sleep in the same bed as the child and claim back his fee as a charitable donation.
8. Station a red-eyed, sinister clown puppet with a motion sensor by the bedroom door.
9. Install one of those water bottles for hamster cages on the side of the bed and infuse the liquid with a subtle amount of Phenergan. If necessary, progress to unsubtle amounts.
There’s a chance that not all childcare experts will endorse every one of these, but surely anything’s worth trying once, isn’t it?
The sad conclusion I’ve reached through rearing three toddlers who eventually saw sense and ceased being toddlers is that there are no shortcuts or miracle solutions.
Whatever happens, don’t enter into negotiations as you’ll be outwitted.
Be firm, be stern and don’t give in, and there’s a small chance your toddler might just respect your authority.
Then enjoy your victory because it will be the last time it ever happens.
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Sounds like you need to order some kids melatonin from Iherb Merrill 😂
Works a treat!