Melt my heart...

Little Man has been having a rough time lately.

I'm not sure what it is, maybe it's just that he's three and a half, or maybe it's that with Christmas and the fact that his school has been closed since mid-December, we have "lost" our routine.

Lately, though, there are more days than not that he's just so out of sorts and, well, seemingly miserable.

There have been tantrums, and the testing, testing, TESTING of boundaries.

Unfortunately, I have not handled this new rebellious behavior with the grace and the patience that I would have expected of myself. There have been more time-outs than I would like. Some of these are short-lived, three minutes on the bottom step of the staircase, and some longer, of the "Go to your room" variety. I have thrown a few temper tantrums myself. I try so hard not to, but when Little Man is throwing a tantrum and Baby Girl is crying or getting into something, and dinner is on the stove, then my inner tantrum tends to try to break out - and unfortunately it often does.

One of Little Man's issues right now has to do with bedtime (and mealtime, potting, snacking, and tv, but we'll stick to bedtime for this post). He doesn't want to go to sleep in his room, he wants to sleep on the couch or in Mommy and Daddy's room. Well, of course that's not gonna fly, I mean Mommy and Daddy need the kids to go to sleep in their own beds so we can get a few things done around here. These days there is typically a tantrum of the kicking and screaming variety at bedtime. The bedtime that we used to have - stories, songs, lots of cuddles, hugs, kisses, and love - is a rare treat. It's been replaced by the grownups trying to wrangle at 40 lb preschooler into bed and getting him to stay there.

The bedtime routine last night started out just fine. Daddy read books, Little Man drank his "chocky milk," I helped him brush his teeth, we sang songs, said prayers, and gave hugs and kissed goodnight. Then, when The Husband and I started to go downstairs, the tantrum started. It was a doozy. The Husband and I were tired, and we just decided to ignore the tantrum. We said goodnight, closed the baby gate, went downstairs, and just let the tantrum burn itself out.

It was so hard.

Later, when Little Man finally fell asleep, we went to check on him. He was deep asleep, but his breath was still hitching and catching, like he was still upset. It made me want to cry.

The Husband and I talked, "What are we going to do? What's going on, why is he doing this?"

Well, there has been more stress than usual in the house. I'm sure Little Man is picking up on it. It's been bitterly cold outside, it's been a month (or two) since we've played in the backyard, gone to the park, or the playground. I don't like to let the kids play on indoor playgrounds, it seems like there are always kids coughing, sneezing, and wiping snot all over the play equipment.
Whatever the reason for Little Man's behavior, The Husband and I felt bad. I don't know why exactly, I think we just feel like there is something we should be doing for Little Man that we're not.

When we finally crawled into bed ourselves we looked at each other and both said, "do you want to go get him, let him sleep with us?" We decided "no," let's not encourage a bad habit. But by the time I turned out the light, I had to go get him. I just felt it in my gut that Little Man needed to be thrown a bone, and that this was it.

So I went upstairs, picked him up, and carried him downstairs. As we were walking, he woke up just a little bit. The sweetest little smile lit up his face. I said, "Well, hello, sweet smile. Why are you smiling, Little Man?" He looked up at me and said in his sweet, half-asleep voice, "Because you love me."

Talk about a momma's heart melting all over the place.