The Great Moon Deception (Alternate Title: I Lie to My Kid and I’m Proud)

The other night, despite him being thoroughly exhausted and it being plenty late, Bubba did not want to go to sleep. Once he’s in bed for the night, I try not to let him back out (that way I can tell myself that even though I’ve done a very very bad thing by letting him drink bottles in bed, at least I haven’t set up a precedent for getting out of bed whenever he wants!), but on this particular night it became clear that unless I was willing to listen to the shrill screams of a persistent and angry toddler, I was going to have to try something different. I decided to compromise by taking him out of the crib and snuggling up on the rocking chair in his room, at which point I began a valiant but ultimately failed effort to calm him with gentle shooshing and quiet singing.

He was not having it. He gestured desperately for the door and pitifully whimpered “out, oooouuuuuut!” while furiously attempting to flee my lap.

Eventually, I gave up on the soothing crap and started jabbering in an attempt to distract him from his plight. I chattered away, reminding him about all the fun stuff we’d done that day and tossing out ideas for what we would do in the morning. It worked, and soon enough he was as happy as a clam and babbling away with me about busses or some nonsense I could only half understand.

But he still wasn’t ready for bed. I had succeeded in cheering him up, but I was no closer to getting him to accept his fate and go the fuck to sleep.

I was just about to give up and take him back out into the living room when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Through the tiny gap in between the two sides of his curtains, I could see the white glow of my neighbor’s entirely-too-bright porch light.

Inspiration struck.

“Bubba, look!” I said excitedly, pointing at his window. “It’s the moon!”

He saw it immediately and shared my enthusiasm. “MOOOON! Da moon!”

“Now Bubba,” I continued sagely, lowering my voice back to bedtime quiet levels. “The moon only comes out at nighttime, when it’s dark outside¹. That means it’s time for sleep. Mama’s going to sleep², Dad’s going to sleep³, the doggie is going to sleep…and Bubba has to go to sleep too.”

He considered this for a while. “Moon,” he finally agreed. “Nighttime.”

We stared at the “moon” for a few more moments, and then I put him back in his crib. He grabbed his bear, stuck his thumb in his mouth, and was asleep before I made it out the door.

I’m pretty sure I’ve never been more proud of my parenting skills. Sure, I lied to my child and convinced him that a 100-watt light bulb was a celestial body. And sure, I reinforced it the next morning by pointing to the window again and reminiscing about how we saw the moon last night. And yeah, sure, I’ve repeated this charade nightly ever since. But this kid has got to sleep, or he might not be as cute and cheerful in the morning…and that would be a far bigger crime than my wee little fib about the moon.

above: what mornings look like around here after a good night’s sleep. not pictured: the whine-fest we enjoy on mornings following a rough night.

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Footnotes:

¹And now I have to distract him every time the moon makes an appearance while it’s still light out to keep up this facade.

²Lie. Mama was going to play Ascension on her iPad.

³Lie. Dad was going to watch baseball and eat pita chips.