Possible Titles for This Post: My Psychotic Child; Not So Happy Things; or Why Don't They Make Tranquilizers for Toddlers?

The Scene
It's Tuesday night at the Casa de Depressionista, oh 'round 7 p.m. The happy family is engaged in fun but quiet activites like playing with the train and reading books. The three of us are happily snuggled on the bed in my room, reading Everyone Poops and Dinosaur Roar.

7:20 p.m.: Bubba is starting to show the signs of sleepiness. The decision is made that it's time for bed. J. and Bubba go to lay down in J.'s room, which is where Bubba's been sleeping of late.

8 p.m.: J. makes the last of his trips to the living room to get the puppy, the car, the train, the red train, and the kitty that Bubba "needs" in order to go to sleep.

8:05 p.m.: J. gets serious, turns out the light, and says "Bubba, it is time to go to bed!"

8:06 p.m.: "Bubba, lay down, it is time to go to sleep!"

8:07 p.m.: "It is nigh-night time!"

8:08 to 8:20 p.m..: "If you don't lay down quietly, I'm going to take the train away. If you don't lay down quietly, I'm going to take the train away. If you don't lay down quietly, I'm going to take the train away..."

8:20 p.m.: Train is taken away. "TRAIN.....RED TRAIN...WAAHHH!"

8:30 p.m.: "Do you want to rock? Okay, let's rock." J. and Bubba move back into Bubba's room where they rock in a futile attempt to lull Bubba to sleep.

8:32 p.m.: Bubba wrestles out of J.'s arms and makes a break for it to the living room, plants himself on the couch and announces "I wanna wah car movie." "Bubba, no more TV. It's time for bed," I say, and J. repeats it.

8:33 p.m. to 8:45 p.m.: Bubba is taken back to bed, crying, "I WANNA WAH CAR MOVIE!!!! I WANNA WAH CAR MOVIE!!! I WANNA WAH CAR MOVIE!!!"

8:45 p.m.: I hear J. in the bedroom: "Bubba, this is ridiculous. IT IS TIME TO GO TO SLEEP."

8:46 p.m.: "Fine. If you want to cry, then you'll have to cry by yourself. I'm going out to the living room."

8:47 p.m.: A beleaguered J. trudges to the living room. "Do you want me to try?" I ask. J. nods yes, admitting defeat. I go to the bedroom, take all the toys away except for Blankie, lay Bubba down and say sternly, "It is time to lay down and go to sleep."

8:49 p.m to 8:51 p.m.: Bubba has crawled to the bottom of the bed, threatening to fall off head first. I pull him back and hold him in my arms against his will, trying to get him to settle down. This pushes him over the edge from bratty to hysterical. I take Bubba into his room and tell him he's sleeping there. He refuses to go to bed and keeps running for the door. Finally, I leave the room, close the door, and hold it shut so Bubba can't get out. He screams hysterically, you know what I mean--the jagged breathing, the coughing, the high-pitched rhythmic screams that sound like he's being tortured. He tries to open the door handle and then knocks on the door. I can't handle it and cave, opening up the door.

8:51 p.m.: I pick Bubba up, hold him, and go over to the rocking chair, trying to speak to him softly, trying to calm him down. He screams louder and thrashes out of my arms. "FINE! I GIVE UP! DO WHATEVER YOU WANT!" I yell at Bubba, marching out to the kitchen while Bubba follows me wailing "DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY." J. comes up from doing laundry and I tell him, "I cannot handle this. This just makes me too angry." I go to the couch and sit crying tears of anger. Yes, anger, at my two-year-old.

8:53 to 9:05 p.m.: J. takes Bubba to Bubba's room, plants him in his bed, and tells him he is sleeping there and that's it. Bubba wails and thrashes and runs around the room, refusing to stay in bed.

9:06 p.m. to 9:20 p.m.: J. closes the door to Bubba's room and holds it shut from the outside. Bubba wails, tries the door, knocks on the door, coughs, calls for his Daddy about 106 times.

9:20 p.m.: Silence. A mere two hours after we began the bedtime routine.

9:20 to 10 p.m.: J. and I discuss the utter ridiculousness of what we've just gone through. We both agree that it's time to lay down the law as far as bedtime is concerned. I said, "If he's going to scream and cry for two hours before we "lock" him into his room, why don't we skip the two hours of torture and just put him straight in there and hold the door shut?" J. agrees. We have essentially agreed to imprison our child in his room until he falls asleep.

Last Night
We put the plan into action. Bubba wails and cries for five minutes and then goes to sleep. However, he wakes up an hour later, crying "Daddy's bed! Daddy's bed!" and J. has to rock him to get him to go back to sleep. The report this morning from J. is that Bubba was up four times through the night wanting to come into his bed, but J. didn't allow it. I know that was a major accomplishment for J.

You know, I thought once we got past the up every two hours to feed thing when he was a month old that things would progressively get better. I thought that by now we'd have a kid who marched into his room when we said "Bedtime!" and went to sleep easily, snuggling his stuffed animal and dreaming of whatever toddlers dream about. Now, this naivete ripped so unceremoniously from me, I honestly believe that we will never have an easy bedtime with Bubba until....well....never. I imagine that he will resist bedtime until he is a teenager and then he'll be out with his friends until all hours of the night and we'll still be laying there awake, worrying and hoping he's okay.

We will not have an easy, restful night until 2022 at the earliest.

You know the funniest part of this whole thing? On Tuesday night, J. actually asked me, with some seriousness, "So...I guess another child is out of the question?"

And then I laughed and laughed and laughed.