Me and E

Now I know how a lot of moms might feel.

One of my son’s female daycare teachers recently moved out of state. While I might have caused my kindergarten teacher to quit teaching, I don’t think my son caused his teacher to move. At any rate, he now has a male teacher, who he talks about with a huge grin on his face. The guy’s name is is Mr. Dave.

Yes, the guy stole my name!

“I hit Mr. Dave with a ball today,” my son said, smiling.

“You hit him? Was he upset?”

“No,” E said, “he laughed. We were playing.”

Then my son proceeded to laugh as he recalled the moment. And then some more moments. For the first time in my life as a parent, I felt the oddest feeling…

jealousy.

Jealous of a teacher spending time with my son! Given that on some days, I’m wishing I could hand my son over to a teacher for a few hours, just so I can get some work done or some quiet time, I was utterly shocked by this feeling.

I hadn’t given this new feeling much thought in the two weeks since Mr. Dave started teaching my son.

Then tonight, I was running late getting E. By the time I arrived at the school, all the other students had gone home. Before entering my son’s room, I took a peek in the little window which is about head high.

Inside, my son was on the floor sitting down right next to Mr. Dave, playing with Lego’s. And E was having a blast! They looked like a happy father and son playing together. And I felt that twinge again.

Until now, E has only had female teachers. It never once bothered me when he bonded closely with them. After all, you kind of expect it, especially given that most young children’s teachers are women.

Which made me wonder, is this how mothers feel the first time that their child bonds with another woman? Are they jealous of the bond or when their child talks glowingly about the teacher?

The logical center of my brain knows that this is a silly emotion. Insecurity is the root of almost all jealousy and I’m not particularly insecure of my fathering skills – even if I can’t paint a straight line or put up a baby fence without cursing like a sailor.

However, I’m still a bit jealous.

I suppose at the heart of the matter, is that I know this closeness I feel with my son isn’t going to last forever.

Something happens between most men and their sons around puberty, where kids essentially lose their brains to some disease which kills all traces of logic and self control. There’s a drifting apart which is never quite bridged completely. Not among most sons and fathers that I know of, anyway. I dread this moment in raising my child.

The jealousy monster wonders crazy thoughts:

• Does my son have more fun with Mr. Dave than me?
• Is Mr. Dave a better role model (he’s skinny and fit while I’m roughly the size of some household furniture) than I am?

And of course, and man, I feel weak saying this,

• Does he like Mr. Dave more than he likes me?

I know all this is silly, and I’m not typically a jealous person. This time it’s a bit different, though. I feel like I am getting a flash of a future I don’t care to see.

At some point, parents stop being the infallible heroes and stars in their children’s eyes and instead become something else entirely— flawed humans which are all too mortal.

I knew I would experience this. I simply didn’t think I’d experience it this soon.

What do you think? Is this a common experience among the parents out there who read this? Feel free to share your story.

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Until he has a solid movement, he can’t go back to daycare.

Which means he’s been home all week with me while I scramble to work late into the nights. I’m not sure which of us is more stir crazy, him being stuck inside or me, stuck watching mind numbing TV shows like Thomas the Train and Barney. At any rate, this might be the first time I’ve prayed for poop.

I’m not sure where he picked up whatever stomach bug he has, either the communicable disease factory known as daycare or perhaps from a certain fast food restaurant where he ate lunch at on Monday. If it IS the daycare, it would seem that someone sent their kid to school sick. Which means one of two things:

1. Kids are getting sick and becoming contagious before their parents notice and can keep them home from daycare
2. Parents don’t care about whether their kids spread their sickness to everyone else in the school so long as they are not personally inconvenienced

Given that E seems to catch something at the rate of once a week, I would suspect the latter. This, however, is the longest he’s been out from school. Even swine flu didn’t keep him out the whole week. So, I’m going to devote the next few months into finding, or perhaps creating a solution.

I call it the No Sick Bubble.

I better not see some company come and steal my idea. Unless, of course, you give me one for free.

Coming next week: Blogger Dad reviews the best (and worst) of Kid’s TV

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After dinner on Saturday, my two year old son, E, was walking around the house pointing at us, saying, “You’re awesome!” while smiling and laughing, thoroughly entertained with his new phrase.

“You’re awesome!”

Future motivational speaker?

****

Woke up Sunday and the living room looked like two tornadoes just finished fighting one another. While my wife was taking a shower, E had dumped all 12 plastic bins of his storage organizer right in the middle of the living room. Cars, trains, books, coloring books, stuffed animals, basically everything he owns, was scattered from one end of the living room to the other.

Here’s the weird part. He likes cleaning. Yes, let me say that again, he likes cleaning. I think he makes messes just so he can be told to put things back in their places. If that isn’t a sign of OCD, I don’t know what is.

Of course, a mess that big, he can’t clean up alone – not the right way, anyway, as he can’t put the bins back in their places – so my wife and I were helping him pick up the mess later in the day.

****

On Sunday night we were watching the scene in Toy Story where Buzz Lightyear wants to fly. My son hopped off the couch and began to run around the living room with his arms outstretched as if he were flying.

“I’m gonna fly!”

Suddenly, he stopped, and said, with some concern as if he were just realizing it for the first time, “I can’t fly.”

****

Later in the night, I was microwaving some dish sponges because that’s how the experts say you’re supposed to get rid of the bacteria in them. However, the experts didn’t say I shouldn’t microwave the sponges with the scratchy backs.

About six minutes in, an awful smell filled the kitchen, the backs of the sponges were black and burning and probably releasing all sorts of toxins into my house.

I opened all the windows and the back door, leaving the screen part closed so the cats didn’t get out and wildlife didn’t get in.

Well, the screen did one of the jobs correctly.

A small frog sneaked into our house. My wife was freaking out and my son was hopping up and down excitedly while I was searching for something to catch it. The closest thing I could find was a big blue plastic pasta strainer.

So there I was, in all my 6’4’’, 340 pound  glory, holding a big blue strainer, trying to corner the frog.

Let’s just say, if I were suddenly in charge of hunting frogs to feed my family, my family would likely need to find a new patriarch.

The frog hopped right past me. Wow, these little bastards are fast! My son burst out laughing, jumping up and down as the frog escaped into the storage organizer which we’d just finished sorting out a few hours earlier.

I let fly with a few curse words as I started yanking plastic bins out, looking for the little bastard frog.

The bastard frog vanished!

I looked everywhere in the immediate area and couldn’t find him anywhere. I’m assuming he’s a guy frog because female frogs wouldn’t be so reckless as to jump into a house with two cats and a toddler.

Meanwhile, the cats, who love to chase their own shadows and act all tough and howl and hiss whenever there’s another cat or bizard (lizard) OUTSIDE the back door, were nowhere to be found during the frog crisis!

Not my cats, but rather two cats who seem to actually notice when a frog is in their house!

So now we play the waiting game, hoping to find the frog before either the cats kill it, we step on it, or E find it and puts it in his mouth.

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Now, on with today’s post.

My two year old son, E, is going through a whiney phase. When he doesn’t get his way, he goes from zero to 60 on the Tantrum Express in two seconds flat.

It begins as an “eh” followed by a louder “eh”

Followed by a constant barrage of increasingly louder “eh”s while pointing at what he wants (or wants to do) repeating:

EH EH EH EH EH EH EH EH!!!!

Over and over and over and over until my head feels like rabid monkeys are cage fighting with ladles and aluminum trash can lids.

And it drives me nuts like few things on this planet can.

My wife defends E, saying that he’s going through a developmental phase, where he’s learning a lot and sometimes it’s too much to process and he reverts back to more infantile ways to express himself or to cope. She could be right, I know I sometimes feel like regressing to cope.

I don’t know what the hell to do when the whining begins. Because my instinct is to do whatever it takes to shut him up as quickly as possible. Since I won’t hit him, I try to reason with him.

Note: Reasoning with a two year old is like trying to reason with your average political talk show caller. It can’t be done. They already have their minds made up and there is NOTHING you can do short of giving them what they want to pacify them.

I try to ignore him but that doesn’t work at all. A two year old WILL NOT be ignored. Not as long as you have ears and he has a voice.

Ignoring him would be a bit easier if he didn’t get so easily upset. His cry is on a hair trigger alert. Not all the time, but a lot recently. And if he gets upset, he is likely to start breathing fast, snorting and then, all of a sudden he is puking all over the place.

Like a big giant puke sprinkler.

(note to readers: You’re welcome for that lovely image)

And since I don’t like whining and I REALLY don’t like cleaning puke, I probably give in too often. Even though I thought I would be the ultra tough disciplinarian.

So, any of you parent vets in the whining war have any tips or advice? Feel free to leave a comment.

For those who have not yet had kids, I leave you with this wonderful Public Service Announcement.

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My son’s new love is Thomas the Train. Apparently this is a phase which all children are required by law to go through, in accordance with Parental Annoyance legislation passed in the early 1980′s.

I didn’t see the harm the friendly little blue train posed when my two year old, E, started mentioning him in conversation a few months ago. My wife, though, was less than thrilled. It seems that her exposure to children over the years has resulted in a strong dislike for Thomas. Thanks to my wife, our house had remained a Thomas-free zone – until recently…when someone bought my son a Thomas the Train book.

It begins with a book

E was super excited and was already familiar with Thomas from daycare, or perhaps from the government brainwashing program which introduces Thomas to children. So, I was excited for him and was happy enough to indulge in his interests, even if the books are long and rather uninspired looking.

Then comes the DVD

I was at my “favorite” store, Target and saw a Thomas DVD for $5. What a bargain, right? I recalled from some distant memory that George Carlin narrated some of the episodes of Thomas and Friends, and I LOVE Carlin, so how bad can the DVD be? Right?

Apparently, Carlin doesn’t curse even once on these DVDs!

And, to make matters worse, the DVD I bought wasn’t even narrated by Carlin. From the lack of animated facial expressions to the cheesy dialogue, this might be the worst DVD I’ve ever watched. And this is coming from someone who has sat through Elmo in Grouchland more times than he can recall (through extensive therapy). Apparently, every episode revolves around Thomas or another train crashing or getting into some other trouble. For a “useful engine” he sure does screw up a lot. In the real world, he’d be sold for scrap. I could suddenly see why my wife didn’t care for Thomas. And now I was going to pay for not listening to her. E insists on watching Thomas morning, noon and night.

The Invasion Begins…

And then one day, I woke to find that a Thomas the Train toy had made its way into our home. One lone train, a blue wooden Thomas engine that Nana bought E. He carried it around the house proudly wherever he went, including bed, where it sat next to the crib, keeping a watchful eye.

And then the floodgates open!

That was all it took. Two weeks later and my house is full of Thomas AND all his friends, Rusty, James, Percy, Henry, and Whiff (who names a train Whiff?) and some coal cars (which E seems to enjoy). And of course, tracks and tracks and a train house. Between Nana and myself, E has racked up a lot of Thomas loot in a short amount of time. All to my wife’s displeasure, though she seems to have accepted this new phase, or at least isn’t fighting it.

While Thomas doesn’t seem too useful in the books and DVDs, he did prove to be useful in one area, though – potty time.

Actually, it wasn’t Thomas, but rather E’s new favorite train (for this week, anyway), James.

While potty training has been very successful, there are times when E doesn’t want to go to the bathroom. This is usually when he has to go Number Two. So, as a parent, you need to get creative in attempts to get your child to the toilet. Last week, there was a day where E hadn’t gone Number Two in almost 24 hours. When I told him it was potty time, he shook his head no. However, when I suggested that he show his new train, James, how he goes poo, another story altogether. E raced into the bathroom, holding James, saying, “I’m gonna go potty, James.”

He carefully placed James on the sink next to the toilet and then sat on the potty and turned to James, so the train could watch him. He grabbed the sides of his toilet seat and tightened his stomach. Moments later, splash, splash. And then E exclaimed proudly,

“Look James, I made a turd!”

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Yes, the same “melts in your mouth not in your hands” candy that we all know and love is evil. Or more accurately, it has brought out the dark side of my son. There we were in the kitchen, with my two year old son, E, throwing himself to the floor, red-faced and crying, “I WANT CHOC-O-LATE!”

It was like a scene from The Exorcist where my kind, sweet baby had suddenly been possessed by a demon.

Oh yeah, it was also 7:20 a.m. and he wanted M&M’s for breakfast.

And who is to blame for bringing this evil into my house?

Well, my wife says I am, because I bought the candy when we were in the grocery store last week. Oddly, moments before I bought the M&M’s, I was thinking, as I strolled through the candy aisle with my son in the shopping cart, how lucky I am that he doesn’t know what candy is.

Suddenly, his little arm shot forward and his mouth made an excited “O” usually reserved for spotting toys he wants, and he shouted (yes, shouted), “Ooh, Ooh! M’s!”

I had forgotten that in July, my wife’s sister gave her children M&M’s as a nightly snack while she was staying with us for the month. To that point, my son had never had candy, save for a tiny bite of a candy bar last Halloween. But when he saw all the other girls having “M’s,” as he calls them, he had to have some, too. And my sister-in-law gave him some. And now, months later, like some subliminal instruction waiting for a prompt, the Chocolate Monster has reared its ugly head.

And I am totally blaming my sister-in-law.

I was upset when I’d heard she gave him candy, but held my tongue. I can’t expect my child to never have candy. I can’t let my own experience with obesity cloud his enjoyment of food. Right? And her kids eat candy on occasion and they are all still skinny.

It’s tough for me to let him eat candy without picturing him sliding down a candy slide into a real-life version of Candy Land, never to eat healthy food again. He’s a skinny kid who likes a wide variety of food, including vegetables, which I am allergic to (at least that’s the story I tell when asked), and I want to see him stay that way.

So, there he was this morning, kicking and screaming, throwing a tantrum the likes of which I’ve only seen other kids throw. You know, those little jerks. The chocolate had brought out a side of my son that, and I feel a bit guilty here, that I don’t really like.

I tried to calm him down and explain that M’s are for snack, after dinner. Certainly not first thing in the morning. I promised he could have some later, but only if he stops crying. Everything I was saying seemed weak and all wrong. My wife then tried to calm him down and offered him cereal.

He ate the cereal begrudgingly, eating and crying at the same time.

It was truly a pathetic scene. I was frustrated and annoyed and…

And was craving some chocolate.

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If someone were to ask me that two years ago, before I had a son, I would surely have said yes. We’ve all seen the kids in the grocery store and on the playground raising hell and in desperate need of discipline. You know, the same kind of kids that make you think that things like population control aren’t necessarily bad ideas.

On the other hand, we’ve also seen the abusive parents beating the crap out of their kids on Aisle 7. The kind of beat downs that make you think maybe the government should have stepped in with some sort of program before THEY were born.

But my son, E isn’t one of those kids.

The first two years have been a dream. I couldn’t ask for a better behaved, more thoughtful child. He is fun, goofy, energetic and his smile softens my tough, crunchy chocolate shell.

E has never really given us a reason to discipline him beyond the occasional “time out” – a term which makes me cringe a little. I can imagine someone suggesting that my dad or better yet, my grandfather – a man whose anger is the stuff of legend and these days, would probably be the stuff of police blotters – use a “time out.”

Usually, E listens when we ask him to do something, and more importantly, when not to do something. I think he was testing the waters last night, though.

I asked him to take a toy out of his mouth while he was running around the house. Usually, in a situation like this, he will take the toy out and then start to put it back in just to see what I do one or two more times before eventually obeying. Last night, though, he replied, “no” and then ran around the living room, laughing.

So I did my best strong, but calm Adult Voice and said if he didn’t listen, he would go to timeout.

He kept running, ignoring me and laughing. I chased him down and put him in his timeout spot and pulled the toy from his mouth. I remained calm (at least I think I was – maybe Blogger Mom will say otherwise in the comments) and started to walk away. E then jumped up and started running again, smiling and laughing like he does when I chase him around the house for fun.

Meanwhile, my wife is doing her best not to laugh. Because even though he is disobeying us, he is being very cute and funny.

I started to reconsider the punishment. It wasn’t a big deal, the toy in the mouth. However, it had become a big deal because he was ignoring me. While he might not have realized the seriousness and might have even thought I was playing, I couldn’t take the chance of backing down and undermine future efforts to discipline.

So, the scene went on a few more minutes, each time, E ran away from me or squirmed away when I attempted to sit down with him. He even smacked my face one time when I was picking him up. He apologized immediately afterward and hugged me. However, he still wasn’t ready to sit in timeout.

I felt like I was running out of options and started mulling the nuclear option -

Spanking.

Nothing severe, nothing borne of anger or frustration, just a smack or two on the hand or bottom. Something to get him to listen to me.

However, there is a part of me that has come to be very opposed to spanking.

Here is why I am opposed to spanking.

• Physical discipline says that violence is a legitimate response to dealing with issues.
• It damages an unspoken covenant you have with your child, which states that you will never intentionally inflict pain.
• Hitting your child, especially when they are too young to understand what is happening, is nothing short of betrayal of an inherent trust and bond.

However, try as I might, I cannot look at this child, who means so much to me and has impacted my life so much and who sees me as his daddy, buddy and protector and hit him.

My wife eventually stepped in, once it was clear that I didn’t know what to do. E listened to her after a little bit of a struggle and then started taking the discipline serious and cried to get up.

Flash forward 22 hours.

My wife was at a friend’s house and I was with E. We were having fun, playing in the living room when he suddenly asked, “Spank?”

“Huh?”

“Spank me,” he said, turning his backside to me.

“You want me to spank you?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, laughing as if we were playing a game.

Clearly, he has seen someone get spanked, perhaps my sister-in-law spanked one of the girls in front of him when she was visiting? And clearly, he doesn’t seem to understand that spanking is not fun (no jokes from the naughtier of you).

“Daddy doesn’t want to spank you,” I said.

Daddy doesn’t ever want to hit you.

So, what is your experience with spanking? Does it work for you? Are you opposed? Under what conditions is it okay (if ever?). I realize that this is a controversial topic which could elicit some strong comments – so I must ask everybody to remain civil if a debate erupts. I’d hate to have to spank everyone.

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“Life is a waterfall
we drink from the river
then we turn around and put up our walls”
-System of a Down: Aerials

One of my favorite photos is of my younger brother and I aged nine and three. We are sitting on my first bike, a red and white banana seat Huffy, and my arms are closed around him. It’s one of the happier memories of my childhood.

It’s from a time when I would routinely hug and kiss on my little baby brother.

The only way my brother and I are likely to hug these days is if it’s followed by razzing or perhaps a sarcastic comment or punch.

The reason – Number 7 in The Guy’s Code – Guys shall not hug each other*.

The asterisk beside this rule notates an exception which allows for hugging ONLY at very solemn events such as funerals or the birth of triplets or very joyous events such as your team winning a playoff game. However said hug must be accompanied by several whacks on the back.

Acts of affection are allowed only if mixed with aggression.

This story isn’t about my brother so much. It’s more about fathers and sons.

There is a distance in most male relationships, a guarded distance. Perhaps it is born of sibling rivalry or daddy issues or just the hardening that most men go through just to get by in the world without becoming the target of bullies and those looking to take advantage.
When I was a child, I hugged my mom and dad every night before bed. One night, I just stopped.

I’m not sure why, but as I was approaching the ripe old age of 10, hugging and kissing my parents goodnight didn’t seem cool anymore. It seemed weird. I barely remember the transition, but it was quick.

And with that act of pulling back, the last remnants of my childhood innocence slipped away like shedding skin.

In it’s place, I began building the wall that most guys build around themselves – that protective barrier against all that would harm or hug.

Recently, someone breached my wall – my son.

He is still a toddler, so he loves hugging and kissing big sloppy kisses which leave your nose or cheek wet. And I LOVE hugging him. The closeness in that moment, the energy, the LOVE in that bond is one of the most amazing feelings ever.

And it pains me to know that someday he will pull away.

Someday he will feel weird hugging me just as I had felt hugging my parents. I wonder if my dad gave much thought to my pulling away as a child. What he may have felt never occurred to me until now. It never occurred to me that maybe I hurt his feelings. Partly, because I was pretty certain my dad didn’t have feelings.

My dad is an Old School Tough As Nails Dad, the kind of guy that just does what needs to be done and doesn’t spend a whole lot of time contemplating his ‘feelings’. I certainly couldn’t have imagined him getting all torqued up because his son stopped hugging him.

But now that my son is born, I see a softer side of my dad. The side that probably existed back before my brother and I wore him down with our antics.

Last Tuesday, my father came to my house to install cabinets, a shelf and a rack in our laundry room. It was a Christmas gift to my wife and I. We worked much of the day putting the cabinets up and they look great. When I saw WE worked, I mean HE did most of the work, while I helped do the things which didn’t require much knowledge of tools.

At the end of the day, I thanked my dad. As he was leaving, he offered his hand. I shook it, grabbed it, then pulled him closer

and hugged him.

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Raising your first child, there are many ‘firsts’ you look forward to. Their first awareness of you, their first real smile, first gurgling noises, first attempts at words, first time they turn over, crawl, stand, walk, and others I can only imagine at this early stage.

Then there are firsts you don’t look forward to.

For the first time since I became a dad I had to use discipline.

E is 10 months old and though I have no knowledge of other kids at this age, people say he is a good boy. Of course, I can’t imagine a child not being good this young. I would think acting out would not come until later, either as they test their freedom or as a parent, you start screwing up. We’ve not reached either point… yet.

However, while playing today, E smacked me in the face - repeatedly.

I laughed it off at first ( I know, wrong message ) because a) he had this big goofy grin on his face as he clumsily struck me and b) I knew he was probably playing some form of the “got your nose” or the “bonk your nose” game he plays with my mother-in-law. (mental note: tell Nana no more nose bonking games).

I’m sure he thinks he is playing, having fun and interacting with me. After he hit me, he  was watching. He was smiling wide, his curious eyes waiting to see how I would respond.

Part of me wondered if he was in fact testing me, or simply watching my reaction because so much of what we do is a cause and effect relationship. He loves nothing more than to do something which causes daddy to make a goofy face. Well, a goofier face than usual.

His intent was certainly innocent, but I couldn’t help but wonder if this is the point where he begins to test boundaries?

So I asked my wife how to respond.

She said,”tell him ‘no’”

So, the next time it happened, I said, “no” in a deeper-than-normal dad voice, but not in any way as terrifying as I can be, say, when yelling at a certain giant runaway dog to stop running as I chase him through my neighborhood.

He did it again.

“No,” I said in that booming DAD voice.

Instantly, my son’s face changed.

His happy, playful countenance was replaced with a look of confusion. His eyes wide, looking unbelievably at me, and starting to water. Then his lower lip trembled, he turned downward as if ashamed, and began to cry. I tried to hug him but he wanted mommy.

And It broke my heart.

Especially since I know he didn’t mean to “hit” me.

So, this is what it feels like to be the “bad guy” the “wait ’til your father gets home” guy. I must say, it sucks. At the same time, I know it had to be done, because we don’t want him to hit others (even if his intent is to play) so I had to say “no”.

My wife saw how shaken up I was and she supported me by, of course, laughing at me.

Despite all my bragging how I will be a disciplinarian and will raise a respectful child, I melted at my first test.

“You’re going to be such a pushover,” she said laughing.

She has far more experience dealing with kids, and of course she’ll know all the right things to do. Me, on the other hand, who knows?

I’d like to think I know how to handle these situations.

God, to think that everything I do now, good or bad, could affect him his whole life – that’s a lot to live up to.

A part of me is sad that the all-trusting bond between my son and I was broken for the first time. I imagine it only gets harder the more you have to say “no”.

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My son is experiencing separation anxiety.

Well, I should say, the whole house is experiencing my son’s separation anxiety.

At 19 months old, E is starting to need mommy and daddy A LOT! He MUST be with us at all times.

Sometimes, it’s cute. Like when he wants me to lay on the floor in the living room and play with him. If I already have a couch pillow on the floor – from an earlier play session – he pats it and says, “da da” and waits for me to lay next to him.

Today, he was all set to play with some of his connecting blocks when he noticed I didn’t have a pillow. He ran to the couch, grabbed it, and carried it over with two hands and placed it gently on the floor next to me and patted where he wanted me to lay my head.

“Da da”

Those kinds of moments melt my heart.

However, at night, it’s another story.

He is having on again/off again sleep problems. He’s had several bouts of either not going to bed on time or waking up and refusing to go back to sleep.

Last week, he was up until 2:30 a.m. one night – refusing to sleep, despite his normal bedtime routine being adhered to.

Normally, we bathe him, give him a snack, let him play and wind down and then read to him and give him a bottle with a little bit of milk while he lays in mine or my wife’s lap as we sit on the couch. Normally, this works like a charm and he falls asleep and we carry him to bed, and all is okay in the world.

Last week was not a normal week.

He either wakes up as we carry him to his room or he wakes up after we put him in the crib. Then he screams and cries and we have to repeat the whole bedtime process – well the laying on the couch part.

On Friday he wouldn’t fall asleep until 2:30 a.m.

On Saturday morning, when I woke up, my son saw me and got frightened – like I was going to put him to bed. My wife told him to give me a kiss. Only after he realized that I wasn’t going to take him to bed, would he consent.

Later, I read up on some sleep training, e-mailed a few people and got pretty much the same advice – break him of his need cold turkey. However, some people say doing so puts a psychological stress on your child and you should NEVER leave them alone when they are having separation anxiety.

I decided to try the cold turkey route, and hope I’m not turning him into a future psycho, or worse, writer/artist/blogger.

Saturday night, he fell asleep in my arms on the couch at 10:00 p.m. I put him down in his room, made it to the hallway where I was giving myself a congratulatory fist pump for getting him to sleep, when, “WAAAAA!!”

Crap!

I went in once, attempted to soothe him, but decided that I would not bring him back to the living room. He was not happy. I put him back in his crib. He cried for about 45 minutes total.

These kinds of moments break my heart.

He slept, though. It worked.

Sunday night, he went down about 8:40 p.m. I thought all would be okay until 12:30 a.m. when he started screaming.

I know he has been teething today, so I gave him some Infant’s Tylenol. I changed his diaper and gave him a bottle. I tried to put him back to bed after that.

That’s when he went ballistic. Long story short, I spent nearly three hours waiting him out on the couch, watching him fall asleep, only to have him wake each time I tried to get up and bring him to bed.

At 3:27 a.m. – yes, I remember the time – I said enough is enough and brought him to bed. He cried for about five minutes then fell asleep.

I am beat.

Not sure what I’ll do tomorrow. One of us is going to break. Odds are good it will be me.

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