The time change was hard on the kids. I didn't think it would be. I mean, they aren't on as strict a sleep schedule as they used to be as babies and an hour shift isn't really that much to absorb, but apparently they are more sensitive than I gave them credit for.
In background for this, I should explain that Max has turned into a little affection magnet at bedtime good byes. In general, he is a "love max-chine" and gives hugs and kisses readily, eagerly, and often. But at bedtime he becomes a little greedy. He has a definite pattern. He wants kisses on his back (not sure why, but he has convinced his siblings on occasion to ask for "back kisses" too), then hugs, then paci kisses. This sometimes has to be repeated multiple times, between hugs & kisses for Daniel and Caroline as well. And when I finally peel myself away, Max will cry for more kisses as I turn off the lights and sneak out.
This only intensified with the time change. A couple of days into it, and after having lived through ten or so minutes of wailing after the final nighty-nights, the kids were finally asleep. I busied around getting ready for the next day and then settled in to watch a little tv. And then there was a thunk. And then a new set of wailing.
"Mommy!"
"Mommy!"
"Mommy?"
And it sounded different than Max just trying to calm himself down, so I snuck in to see him. He was still crying, so I brought him out to the darkened living room, where he told Daddy his head hurt. Aha! The thunk! He must've hit his head on the bed. So I got him some ibuprofen and then we hugged for a while until he decided he wanted to walk to bed. Crisis averted, right?
Wrong.
He wanted another round of hugs and kisses. And he wouldn't let go - literally, holding on to my shirt and screaming, "More Kisses!" I was nervous he would wake the others up, so I tried to appease him, but he wouldn't let go. I heard some rustling from Daniel's bed, so I decided to snatch Max up and take him out of the bedroom to calm down. And that's exactly when Daniel woke up. Just in time to see his screaming brother being carried out of the room.
And so he started screaming.
And crying.
And so Max and I went back in. Max still wanted hugs and kisses and cried whenever I wasn't touching him. Daniel was gulping for air and sobbing in what I can only imagine was part terror that Max had been abducted and part jealousy that Max was getting extra attention. And there I was bobbing between the two of them.
"Mommy! More hugs!"
"Mommy! Talk to Daniel!"
"Mommy! More hugs!"
"WAAAH!"
After ten minutes, and knowing that my efforts were not improving anything and just getting everyone more frustrated, I told them it was time for bed and walked out. They wailed and moaned and hurled every sort of guilt a three year old has at his disposal.
"Mommy!"
"Hug me, Mommy!"
"Talk to Daniel!"
"Mommy, I need you!"
"Mommy, turn on the light!"
"Mommy!"
So I retreated from their doorstep and hid in the darkened living room, hearing their only slightly muffled pleas. I turned on the TV to drown them out for five minutes. I let it stretch out to ten minutes. And then they were quiet.
I know it was the right thing to do. I know they need to learn to soothe themselves to sleep without the crutch of me patting them on the back or kissing the tops of their heads. I know I wasn't helping them when I was in the room.
I know it was the right thing to do.
But I still felt like the worst Mommy alive for those ten minutes, and quite a few more after that.
Oh, and Caroline slept throughout the whole thing. Not a muscle moved.
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