My kids eat with the ferocity of starving wildcats. They sit in the bike trailer or at brunch, entertaining themselves with their own fingers for an hour if they have to. I know I should have no more children because these two spoil me—unless it’s nighttime.
Some parents get good-tempered toddlers with healthy appetites and remarkable attention spans; some parents get to sleep. You really cannot have it all.
That said, I have come to terms with never getting 8 uninterrupted hours of sleep again. What I can’t seem to find a healthy coping mechanism for is the bedtime drama. Why can’t they just go to sleep and stay asleep? Like, what are you waking up with anxiety about? You have no deadlines, no bills to pay, no meals to cook—literally nothing to worry about. Yet, here we are in the rocking chair for the 123rd time in the last 42 minutes.
My desperation had reached unprecedented heights until I discovered an ill-advised but very effective training plan to cure my toddler’s insomnia.*
They want me to stay with them, and since I don’t want them in my bed, I’ve made it possible for me to invade their personal sleeping space. For Margot, we bought a fancy, queen-sized Japanese floor mattress. Laying with her until she falls asleep and quietly rolling (yes, literally rolling) away, has worked well enough to make the recommendation to my fellow mothers of insomniacs.
Vivienne had been sleeping 11 glorious, uninterrupted hours, but when her sister got the floor bed, jealousy must have stirred in her. The girl now has an insatiable desire to sleep in our bed, and she will wake all of Downtown Orlando with her screams until she gets what she needs.
I don’t want to buy another floor bed, guys. They aren’t as comfortable as the Amazon reviews say, and they do nothing for my aesthetic.
So the other night, I climbed into the crib with Vivienne.
If you are judging me right now, you’ve never had a toddler with insomnia, so just shut up or leave.
I’m going to reiterate that this is ill-advised,** and I’m going to share my training plan for curing your toddler’s insomnia.
(1) Flexibility
Be mentally and emotionally flexible as you navigate what works for your darling daytime worshipper, but also be physically flexible enough to pull this off without injury. Stretch those hip flexors with some deep, deep—seriously deep—lunges.
(2) Strength
You need grit to survive parenthood, but you also need strong legs and a solid core to keep you stable as you climb in and out of your toddler’s bed.*** It’s The Hunger Games in there, and if you rock the baby with your weak core and wobbly quadriceps, you risk everything (read: your whole night’s sleep).
(3) Weight loss****
In a culture where we have come so far with our beauty ideals and body positivity, I am taking a colossal risk by telling you to lose some weight. No matter how much you weigh, if you’re an adult, you’re over the weight limit for the baby’s crib.
(4) Close the blinds
You do not want your neighbors seeing you like this.
(5) Tell your partner
If they can’t convince you to try a more reasonable approach, at least they’ll be on standby to call the paramedics when the time comes.
Some things to consider:
This is technically co-sleeping, but you’ll be so uncomfortable, you won’t be able to fall into a deep sleep, so don’t worry about it.
This also technically exceeds the weight limit of the crib, but do you really think the crib manufacturers don’t expect us to do this? If they don’t expect it, they clearly don’t have kids, and I don’t recommend you buy a crib from a cribmaker who’s never seen a baby using a crib in the wild.
Disclaimers:
*Don’t do this. I did it and it gave me insane anxiety for the 7 minutes I was in the crib. Just buy a Japanese floor bed and lay on that with your kids.
**Seriously, do not do this. It’s dangerous for you and your kid.
***I don’t recommend you climb in and out of the crib. The springs will bend and probably break.
***This is a joke. Please don’t cancel me.