The result: a toddler who was cranky and over-tired, incessantly screaming for over an hour while his cranky and over-tired mother cried from frustration and a feeling of failure.
It wasn't pretty. I was at a loss. He had eaten. I had changed his diaper. He had plenty to drink, and I was doing everything I could think of to entertain and comfort him. Nothing was working. Through tears, I turned on the TV, desperate for some cessation of the whiny screams. The minute it came on, Miles was suddenly silent. I decided on Mythbusters, his favorite. For the duration of the episode, he was quiet and happy. Not that he really watched it the whole time. Mostly, he played near the TV, occasionally checking to see if anything was exploding. When the episode ended, he started whimpering again, and the tone told me it was about to get worse. I made a brief attempt to get him to sleep, but it was still too early, and he flailed, kicked, and screamed until it was obvious that it was *not* bedtime.
So, like the Bad Mommy I am, I started another episode, and enjoyed another 40 mintues of relative calm. When it ended, it was bedtime.
I took Miles through the routine, praying that he would go right to sleep. No dice. As I write this, he is upstairs, occasionally whimpering as he continues his fight against sleep. And I sit here, typing on my phone, trying not to cry from frustration and exhaustion, anxiously waiting to see if this time he will finally fall asleep, and put an end to this rough day.
Hopefully, tomorrow will be better. . .
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