A Battle of Epic Proportions

It's dusk. The sun is sinking beneath the horizon. The birds are beginning to slow their song as the crickets warm up their symphony of strings. I am alone, sitting behind a desk staring anxiously at the clock that slowly ticks the minutes away.

It's been 53 minutes...now 54.

I listen close. Nothing. Then, a little cry rings in my ears. It's Andrew. I put him to bed at 7:06, his usual bedtime. I know he is tired, it was evident in his manner. He wobbled around the living room like a drunken sailor, he would not stop rubbing his right eye and his screeching would only cease if I held him. This is typical evening behavior...proof that it's time for bed.

Seeing the signs--so clear--I went about my duty. I changed him, put on his blue pj's, with the trains and frogs, and got a bottle ready. I warmed the milk and retrieved the blanky. Andrew saw what I was doing and started to cry with excitement over the bottle. When it was ready, I took him to the rocker...his favorite place to sit. I snuggled him in, covered him with the blanky and gave him the bottle. He was delighted.

I rubbed his head and sang a little song. His eyes were droopy, getting droppier....closed! The bottle was empty, I know it's time to put him down. I slowly put the bottle on the chair and started to stand. However, just as I got to standing position, daddy made a little chuckle and then...he sneezed.

Oh no...this is a disaster.

I quickly looked down at Andrew as his eyes popped back open. He smiled when he heard daddy laugh. He knows that means fun...but what made it infinitely worse was the sneeze. I ask you, what one-year old baby is strong enough to resist such a sound? It is a clear invitation for fun. I hastily lengthened my stride and exited the living room. Perhaps it's OK, maybe I haven't missed my window yet.

When I reached Andrew's dark, cool room he was squirmy, trying with all his chubby might to look behind my shoulders and see what daddy was doing. By now I know...it's too late. Andrew is curious and his curiosity means only one thing...he will be stubborn.

I tried cradling him, but he wouldn't have it. I tried singing again, he only put his hand on my mouth. It was now or never, so I put Andrew in his crib. I swiftly covered him in his blanky and kissed his cheek. He seemed alright, like he might stay put. I was relieved.

I walked out the room and closed the door so only a small crack let in the faintest amount of light. I heard nothing. Ahhhhh! Relief. That was so close...too close! I smiled to myself as I realized the problem I only narrowly escaped.

"Andrew will go to bed", I thought to myself, relieved.

However, just as I was reaching my bedroom door, I realized that providence was not actually on my side. At first it started as a slight whimper, barely noticeable...and then...a loud bawling began streaming from the depth of Andrew's room.

That's when I knew...there will be a battle tonight.

I first waited for 15 minutes, expecting Andrew to let the drowsiness take over. But, alas, he is as stubborn as his mother and the crying has still not stopped. It has now been 65 minutes and I still hear a small whimper in the next room. It goes against every instinct I have, I want to get my baby, but I know I need to leave him alone. He needs to sleep. I bite my tongue and continue typing with only one question in mind.

Who will win this battle? Andrew--the small, cherubic titan? Or mommy--the stubborn, letter of the law?

Only time will tell...