Bedtime: A 47-Step Negotiation Process
Bedtime in my house is not a routine. It's a hostage negotiation where I am somehow both the negotiator and the hostage.
It starts at 7:30 with the Announcement: “Alright, bedtime!” This is met with the same shock and betrayal as if I'd announced it for the first time ever. Every night. Six kids, and every single one acts like bedtime is a brand-new concept I invented to ruin their lives.
Then come the stages. Stage one: the Delay Tactics. Suddenly everyone is desperately thirsty. Parched. Dehydrated. On the verge of collapse. We have water upstairs, but no — it must be kitchen water. Kitchen water hits different.
Stage two: the Existential Questions. “Mom, what happens when you die?” — asked at 8:47 PM by a child who was “so tired” four minutes ago. I love a deep conversation. I would love it more at literally any other hour.
Stage three: the Migration. This is when children begin appearing in rooms that are not their rooms. Beds that are not their beds. There's a small person in my bed. There is ALWAYS a small person in my bed. I've stopped fighting it. My bed is a timeshare now.
Stage four: the Final Boss — the one who is “not tired” while yawning so hard their jaw might unhinge. Sir. Your body has filed a complaint.
By 9:30, silence. Actual silence. And I stand in the hallway like a general surveying a battlefield, equal parts victorious and hollowed out. Then I go downstairs, sit in the quiet, and think about how much I miss them. The same tiny terrorists I just spent two hours deploying to bed.
Parenthood is wild like that.
What's your bedtime stage count? And be honest — how many tiny timeshare holders are in YOUR bed right now?
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