The Toddler Chronicles, No. 15
Bedtime is always interesting.
Lyla has been in this phase where she wears a sleep mask to bed. She’s such a diva. But it’s the coolest thing ever: Gabby and I tuck her into bed, she puts the mask on, and she’s asleep nearly immediately.
She was asleep a couple of weeks ago—had been soundly asleep since around 8:30—and woke up around 1 or 2 in the morning screaming.
Gabby and I were half asleep ourselves, and out of nowhere we hear Lyla panic-yelling, “Mom! Moooommmm! Mom! I’m blind! Mom! I’m blind and I can’t see! Mooommm! I’m blind!”
She was lying on her back and still had the sleep mask on.
Gabby talked to her through the baby monitor and said, “Lyla, you’re not blind. Your sleep mask is still on.”
Lyla then took her hand and started patting her face, high-five style, until she realized the sleep mask was still on. Then she just said, “Oh,” and went back to sleep without another peep the rest of the night.
The following night, around the same time, it was the opposite problem—her sleep mask had moved off her eyes at some point during her tossing and turning.
Gabby and I were half asleep again when we were woken up by, “Mom! Moooommm! Mom! I lost my sleep mask! Moooommmm! I can’t find my sleep mask and won’t be able to sleep ever again! Mom!”
She’s quite dramatic in the early morning hours. My theory is she inherited that gene from Gabby and definitely not me.
The sleep mask had just moved up from her eyes to her forehead but was still on. Gabby picked up the monitor and said, “Lyla, your sleep mask is on your forehead. Just pull it back down and go back to sleep.”
Again, Lyla started patting her face high-five style until she found it on her forehead, said, “Oh,” and went back to sleep for the rest of the night.
In one more not-entirely-unrelated story, the girls have a lava lamp in their room they use as a nightlight, but instead of lava, it’s jellyfish. So I guess it’s technically a jellyfish lamp and not a lava lamp, but it’s the same concept and easier to explain that way.
Anyway, I digress.
We put the girls to bed—Charlotte passed out immediately like the good two-year-old she is—and Lyla put on her sleep mask, surely to be asleep right away.
I went to turn off the jellyfish lamp and Lyla stopped me and said, “No, Dad, leave it on. I want to watch them swim.”
I said, “Lyla, you have a sleep mask on and literally can’t see them.”
In a “duh, Dad, you’re ridiculous” tone, she said, “I know, so I’m going to pretend to see them, but they need to actually be on for me to do it. You can turn them off later.”
Far be it from me to trample on her four-year-old logic. I said, “Oh, right—silly me,” and finished tucking her in.
She was asleep in all of six minutes.