Conquering Bedtime, One T.I. at a Time

We're doing it, folks. We're conquering bedtime.

The 7am drag-Noah-out-of-bed by his footed jammies technique is successful!!!

Of course, I'm not going to lie and say he's going down without a fight. But he IS (for the most part) remaining in his bed while tossing out verbal commands/complaints at his parents in the other room. We're responding only to those that require immediate attention. Such as a T.I. And we had a doozy of a T.I. last night.


"T.I.?" you ask. "What's T.I.?"

T.I., my dear reader, stands for "terrifying incident".

Anything that involves uncontained bodily functions, projectiles of any sort, damage to furniture, or threats to life or limb can be defined as a T.I.

Last night my husband stayed out to watch the Junior's gold medal hockey game. I took our son home between the third period and overtime as he was getting dangerously cranky and overtired. Besides, it was almost 9pm, his new bedtime!

We did milk, brushed teeth and had story time. Noah went down without too much of a fight.

I thought maybe, just maybe, he'd go to sleep without a fight. Until I saw his diaper flying out of his door and heard it land with a thud on the hardwood. I knew then that I was in trouble. The scary part was, Noah didn't make a sound.

I went into his room and found him sitting in his bed, on top of the new quilt his grandmother had bought for his second birthday, pretending it was a commode. He just looked at me, smiled, and said "I pee da bed, momma."


Thankfully, it was ONLY number one, which is everyone's first choice when you think of the cleaning up the alternative. I know my son is barely two, and there's a possibility he didn't do it on purpose, but I really do think he planned his assault that evening. I suspect my darling angel had the foresight to plot this particular T.I. 

Realizing I would never know if he had really done it on purpose, (but if he HAD, a major reaction would only reinforce the behaviour,) I worked in silence. And I must admit it took everything in my power NOT to react expressively to his display of suspected defiance.

In about 2 minutes, I:

~Stripped off his top.
~Rediapered him.
~Stripped off his sheets.

~Folded the offended quilt into said sheets.
~Disinfected the plastic-covered crib mattress.
~Replaced sheets with Noah's second favourite set (For future reference, Noah, that's what happens when you pee on your car sheets!)


And then came the challenge. How to keep the diaper on my naughty Noah in the first place? 

I never had to answer, because my husband walked in the door. He saw Noah standing in only a diaper, a pile of bedding sitting on the hardwood next to a half-torn used diaper, and me with the weariest of looks on my face holding a set of pajamas up while wondering if they can be donned backwards.

"Hi honey," Kevin tiptoed in the door. "Need a hand?"

Why yes, I did. I needed two. I handed my husband the sleepers, and climbed out the baby gate and into the hall. "Our son needs to get dressed. Backwards. Have fun."

And, being the amazing hubby that he is, it was the last peep I heard out of my little monkey until I saw him bright-eyed (and backwards-sleepered) this morning, bright and early at 7am. I got a giant toddler hug and a big slobbery kiss. "Good morning Mommy!" he grinned.

I smiled, and kissed my little monkey on both cheeks and hugged him back with all my might.

"Good morning, Noah! Did you have a good sleep?"
"Um... yes!" Noah replied. 

Well, good. One T.I. down, one well-rested little boy. Come on, 9pm bedtime. We're ready for you. Bring it on, Noah.