McK slept in a crib until we moved to our new house. She was almost two and a half when we spent our very first night here. She got to pick out everything for her new room. She chose a lovely yellow flowered bedspread that matched the white furniture perfectly.

Her bed was big…a queen size. My mom has always said that if you had the room and the money, just get a the queen size. You’ll want to climb in with them when they are sick. You’ll have guests who will need a place to sleep. So we did it. She looked so tiny in it. The first night she cried on and off. The second night she fell asleep like and angel. Then she did the same for every night thereafter.

She wouldn’t get out of her bed. Ever. On the weekend she would play and read until we came to get her. It was lovely. It was as if the floor was hot lava. I could take a shower and not worry.

Then one day she touched the tip of her toe to the floor. She realized it wouldn’t swallow her up and she could touch the door knob without melting. She figured out that she could open that door and army crawl through the kitchen and peak into the living room to see what Mommy and Daddy where doing.

Game. Over.

It’s been a battle ever since. She will climb out of her bed three to four times a night.

Her sock fell off.

She cannot find yellow.

She needs some water.

She has a question about the meaning of life.

What took a couple of minutes before has turned into an hour or more of fighting. Mornings are rough. This makes her nap longer at school which in turn makes her less sleepy at bedtime.

Are you seeing the cycle yet?

As I lie in bed trying to get caught up on some adult TV, I hear her open the door for the second time tonight.

Mama, I need to poop. This is always a good way to stall bedtime.

I hear her fumbling in the bathroom. I tell her to pick up the pace and get back to bed before I take her glow stick away.

Please. Just go bed, already!

I am writing for the 2019 March Slice of Life Challenge