Ten days

It took ten days.

Ten days before bedtime was not a blur of tears and exhaustion. Ten days before the raging beast we thought we’d seen before – but truly never had – finally went back into hibernation and left our toddler in its place.

Ten days of wondering if we’d made a huge mistake.

Ten days of thinking the Easter bunny’s fabulous presents were not nearly good enough to make up for the loss of the pacifier.

It took rivers of tears, entire concerts of soothing songs, and several hours to fall asleep in a heap of exhaustion. But that was just the first 24 hours.

After that, it was a lot of testing. Did we mean it? Had the Easter bunny *really* taken all of the pacifiers? Wasn’t there another one downstairs or in our room or somewhere, anywhere? But he wouldn’t ask for it by name. Instead he made a sad face and told me with a quivering lip that he *needed* something before settling down for bedtime songs. And then it was getting out of bed over and over and over again because even facing frustrated parents was at least something to do in a world in which he wasn’t sure he could fall asleep without that little piece of plastic.

By the third day, bedtimes were still a bit teary, but the real problem was the aforementioned beast that showed up at every turn. I thought I knew what it was like to have unexpected meltdowns, shouts when the food served wasn’t toddler-friendly, demands that had to be refused amidst howls intended to make it clear to the neighborhood how mistreated he was for not being allowed to have MORE CRACKERS.

But this creature was something else altogether.

He screamed about not getting to shut the refrigerator door himself. He screamed for being asked to shut the refrigerator door himself. He cried for me to leave him alone in his room. He cried when I left him alone in his room. He told me repeatedly that I was doing it wrong, whatever “it” was. He had tantrum after horrible tantrum, and not the kind that last 2-4 minutes. These were episodes that left us both shaken and miserable, and there wasn’t even bedtime to look forward to, since it still took over an hour to get him to go to sleep and no guarantee that he’d stay that way all night.

I had no idea how much that pacifier had been a crutch we’d BOTH used.

Somehow we kept at it.

Ten days later, Sebastian returned.

Yes, he still occasionally shouts if I bring him a snack that “is not my favorite,” and he still gets timeouts to think about where we stand (the steps, the floor) and where we don’t (on every piece of furniture in the house). But now I feel less like I want to leave him on the neighbor’s doorstep and run away for a day.

The only change in bedtime routine is that it now requires four songs instead of two to get him to give a happy “Good night, Momma” hug. I can handle that.

Ten days. Sounds so short. Felt SO long.