Bedtime psychobaby

In the mirror you can see the wreath that Julie chose instead of the "awful" cast-iron candle sconces. I think it looks like Lyla has a big Cheerio on her head. It's certainly not a halo considering her bedtime behavior lately.

Everybody online is saying the same thing. Suddenly the toddler loses his or her mind and devotes considerable vocal resources at bedtime to making sure the parents lose their minds too.

Lyla screams. Not a scared, sick, or in pain scream, but a manipulative, angry, fuck-you scream.

"Nigh-night, Lyla."

"FUUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUU!"

She won't even lie down, won't put her head on your shoulder, won't do anything but scream. Wanna come over?

I know what you're thinking: "Are you sure she's not sick? Maybe she's scared of the dark. Maybe she's blah blah blah."

Seriously, wanna come over?

She finally settles down after we wait it out for 15 minutes and then go back up and then wait it out and then go back up. Then she sleeps through the night, but only after she has wrapped her little fingers around the fabric of our sanity and unraveled a little more.

Of course we know what to do and we're happy to do it: stricter bedtime routine, more communication, relaxing bath, soothing books, fewer lines of cocaine, and so forth. Julie even read about a clock with a red light, yellow light, and green light, which you work into her routine--green light for ten minutes, yellow for five, and red after that. "Wed wight, Dada. Bed!" she'll shout gleefully and then squirrel-climb into her crib. It's worth a shot.

I wish it didn't have to be so reactive, though. If we could have anticipated this sudden bedtime psychosis, we might've prevented it. Or at least sent her to boarding school.

On another note, yes I'll probably start another blog, sheesh. I like how writing affects the way I think about the ordinary events in a day. The world becomes a giant, ridiculous storybook.