The way it works in our house is that I am responsible for putting Anderson to bed. Lately, this has been as simple as putting him in the crib and reading him a bedtime story (Goodnight Moon is our current favorite). Every now and then I have to bounce him on the exercise ball in the living room while I watch a little soccer, or MythBusters.
Last night Andy decided he'd had enough with this pleasant system. Instead of nursing himself to sleep, he worked himself up. Instead of falling asleep after Goodnight Moon, he fussed more and more for twenty minutes. And instead of falling asleep while I bounced him on the exercise ball, he proceeded to wail. Now, ordinarily this wouldn't bug me too much, except it was already pushing eleven p.m. and he wasn't showing any signs of calming down. This was horrifically frustrating.
I hate the feeling of frustration, especially frustration towards somebody I love so much. I try to compensate by showering Andy with hugs and kisses whenever this happens, but the underlying feelings are definitely still there. And frankly they're much more upsetting than whatever caused the frustration in the first place!
Our bedtime routine did end happily last night. After a while I was afraid that I was going to jab him in the back of the throat with my pinky, so I got up to fetch a pacifier. As soon as I got out of the living room Andy fell asleep. Literally, steps into the darkened dining room I had a quietly slumbering baby in my hands. I was so shocked at first I wasn't sure what to do. Eventually I just crept into the nursery and laid him in his crib, and then explained to the equally shocked Laura what had happened. Our theory is that Andy is getting to the point where his interest in the world is overtaking his interest in falling asleep. Instead he just gets cranky and freaks out. So I guess what this really means is that I can no longer expect to put him to sleep while watching a little TV.