That’s right. M is the Celine Dion of bedtime. A performance, some screaming, and between every set? A costume change.
For some reason, when M is awake, he likes to change his clothes. Sometimes several changes a day. The outfits are often terrible to behold. This does not end at bedtime.
Last night we went to bed in our Cars pajamas. 30 minutes later we hear the telltale noise at the top of the stairs that lets us know M is awake and wants something. A kick against the stairs, a cleared throat, a sudden (pitiful) sob. I go upstairs to begin the performance.
Unlike other nights where we’ve been up to no good in our bedroom. Tonight, we expanded our horizons to the hallway. The attic door specifically. We have found stickers. Red, white and blue sparkly stars. The remains of the stickers we used for his potty chart. The sheet is just about empty and the attic door has been bedazzled in the most patriotic of manners. So has the dog (though, thankfully with only one dubious gold star).
We put the stickers away and head to bed. We begin the performance in earnest now. Our room is scary. I’m thirsty. I want a story, a song, that toy over there. Did we have desert? I’m cold. I’m too hot. Where’s Blankie?
Son. When did you change your pajamas? (I have now noticed that a dinosaur is staring at me from his chest and not Lightning McQueen.)
He changed earlier. He was hot. He likes these better. Dino shirt and matching pants. We settle in for the final act. Sing a song and were done.
No encore tonight. Daddy’s tired and, finally, so is M. And, we’re asleep.
This morning I am greeted by a smiling two year old in a dino shirt and striped pants. He sleep changes.