Last night I was working on a project after the kids went to bed. Matilda was reading in her room and Gertrude was lying in her bed, thrashing about like a fish dragged out of the water and dropped on a dock. She has a strange relationship with sleep. Strange in that she refuses to do it. Each night she rages, rages against the dying of the night. Sleep, to her, is an affront to any normal sort of living. It just isn’t done. And, damn it, if she has to sleep she’s going to take us all down with her.
Often if I go in and check on her I find her stiff as a board in the bed, teeth clenched in anger.
“It’s time to go to sleep honey.”
“But I just want to stay up with you.”
“It’s time for sleep, sweetie.”
“Can I sleep in your bed?”
It goes on like this for a while. Eventually we settle for leaving her door open enough so she can see me sitting on the couch. Then the anger begins.
“Can you guys be quiet? I’m trying to sleep!”
“That TV is too loud, can you turn it down? I’m trying to sleep!”
“I have to go potty. I need another drink. There’s a monster in my room. I fell out of bed. The shadows are too bright. I’m troubled by our GNP with regard to the recent consumer confidence index. Dad, how is your Roth IRA doing? Are you planning for your future properly?”
Well last night, as I said, I was working on a project. I was sitting on the couch with the laptop and some headphones on. “Daddy, I need one more hug.” And off I go, sucker that I am.
“You don’t look happy in there,” she said. I suppose I had a furrowed brow while I worked on the computer. I explained it, gave hugs and kisses and went back to work. Then she needed water. And a new tucking. And she wanted a specific song to play for her to go to sleep and on and on and on. Finally, after her fiftieth stall tactic I snapped, “Gert, just go to sleep! It’s an hour past your bedtime.”
Wife said, “Cue the tears.” And normally she’d be right. But last night no tears came. Not after five minutes. Not after ten. Surely she couldn’t be content to just go to sleep. She’s never content. So I went to check on her.
I walked into her room and she was under her covers. I figured she was hiding from me, as she usually does. But she didn’t do the big reveal. I kneeled down next to her bed and pulled the cover off her head.
She was quietly sobbing under her covers. It was at that exact moment that I felt like the biggest pile of crap that humanity has ever produced. What a jerk.
I smoothed over the rough edges and tucked her again. Gave her a big hug and a kiss. She went right to sleep.
I had done the right thing about sticking to my guns. Maybe I shouldn’t have snapped, but I couldn’t give in to her every demand. I have to be strong and show her who is in charge at bedtime.
But I know that, no matter what, I’m the horrible man who made my daughter pull the covers over her head and cry in silence. And I couldn’t have felt worse. She was wrong the first time, but if she seen me again she would be right.
After that, I wasn’t very happy in there.
Gert's song of the day:
Beulah - My Horoscope Said it Would be a Bad Year
Or
Beulah - Waiting for the Sunset (both via Insound)
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