Bedtime delays, 3am callouts, tactical naps.
Issued: 2023-05-01 • Last reviewed: 2024-09-18 • Revision 1.1
Notes compiled from repeated incidents. Not advice. Just… patterns.
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They wake up for three reasons. Bad dream, water, or they’ve thought of something and need to tell you. Only the first one needs a proper response.
No big lights. No chat. Water. Back to bed.
No big lights. No chat. Water if they ask. Back to bed. You’re not their friend right now, you’re logistics.
One more story. One more drink. Wee. Hug. Question about why the sky is blue. They’ve got a list and they’re working through it.
Give a clear cutoff and then stick to it. If you give in once, the list gets longer next time.
"Why do I have to go to bed?" doesn’t have an answer that works. Just say because. Repeat until they’re asleep or you are.
One more episode is never one. Set a timer. When it goes off, that’s it. The timer is the bad guy, not you.
If you’ve said "this is the last one" more than once, you’ve already lost. Just turn it off.
They are tired. They are always tired. They’re just not ready to stop.
Put them in bed anyway. They’ll be out in eight minutes. Don’t say I told you so. Well. You can think it.
You have one shot to move them from car seat to bed without a full reboot.
Keys ready, lights low, no chatting in the hallway. If they blink, abort.
At three in the morning the sock is too twisty, too warm, too something.
Fix it in ten seconds, then leave. Don’t open a debate about sock feelings.
They were fine all evening. Now, at lights out, they are apparently dust.
Small sip, no refills, no bedside TED Talk. Water is not a new activity.
At some point they migrate into your bed and you end up on twelve centimetres of mattress.
Pick a rule: escort them back, or surrender the territory. Half-rules don’t work.
Someone will insist the wrong blanket is on the bed. At 10pm. It’s the same blanket.
Swap it. Don’t argue. The blanket is not the hill.
You’ll stand in the dark outside their room listening for breathing. We all do it.
One creak and you freeze. They’re fine. You’re not. Go to bed.
The rare quiet morning. Coffee. Nobody calling your name.
You don’t move in case it breaks.
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