Staying in Bed - Or not

For the past 40 minutes I have been silent. However, there were plenty of times when I wanted to scream: "*^&*&&$&$ F)&^&^%^@!DDDFFF(*&*^&^%^%#$%@!"

I am trying to put Henry down for a nap. Big deal, you think. Yeah, that's what you think.

Since getting a big boy bed - or to be more exact, since a few days after getting a big boy bed - he won't stay in his bed. And in fact, since I sat down to begin writing this (about 25 mins ago - you can add this to the 40 above), I have been interrupted no less than 20 times. No kidding.

In the past, we have completed our nightly ritual of reading books, drinking milk, snuggling, singing, saying goodnight, and then promptly did everything absolutely and completely wrong in terms of teaching Henry to stay in bed. In our inconsistent manner, we would engage him, compromise with him (HA!), sadly - guilt him a bit by reminding him what a big boy he is and how big boys stay in bed (and then name various friends who we are certain have NO ISSUE with staying in bed), eventually break down and possibly put him in the crib, utterly exhausted by the feud put him in our bed, or do the one thing that Henry wanted all along - stay in bed with him.

Now, to be fair, on one hand, I have no problem with having him sleep with me (as long as I don't mind even less sleep than I already get having to get up every hour to tend to Walter, and as long as I don't mind being kicked, nudged, encroached upon, or having legs dangling over my belly). In theory, I have no problem with staying in his bed with him. But what I do know with the core of my being is that this is not going to teach him to stay in his bed. And is that issue really that important to me?

It is now. I just spent approximately 1 (or possibly more) hour(s) saying nothing, engaging in no way other than through redirection, walking (or one could call it pacing) up and down the hallway (if I even got that far) picking Henry up or taking his hand, and placing him back in bed. Now, I am committed. This was how it went:
Step 1. No speaking and no eye contact on my part
Step 2. pick up the child
3. place in bed
4. cover
5. walk away
6. turn around
7. repeat

I swear to God, I think I did it 80 times. I had to change clothes halfway through because I was sweating. No spanking. When it began to get a little over the top for me, I closed his door and held it closed until I could recover (important step 6.5 I forgot to mention) and then proceeded directly to step 7.

For Henry, it was a bit more like Elisabeth Kubler Ross's stages of grief in action. It went like this, but not necessarily in this order:
1. Run, laugh, scream at top of lungs. Denial.
2. Run into room where Walter was sleeping and repeat step 1. (And create major Anger in Mama.)
3. Run into me coming at him to pick him up.
4. Fall down and go limp to ensure that I pick him up.
5. Cry, cry, cry, cry, cry, cry, cry, and cry. Depression.
6. Beg. Barter.
7. Try to engage me: "I want to read you this book", "I am done sleeping" (AS IF!), "Sleep with me", "Keep the door open", "Mama!!"
8. Walk out of room, down hall, stand there with arms crossed until I came, took his hand, and walked back into room with him. Acceptance. Sort of.
9. Scream, kick. Anger
10. Lay in bed assuring me that he is done sleeping as he rubs his eyes, and FINALLY, doesn't get back up. Acceptance. At least for now.

Is it a battle? It is now.
Will I win? Damn tooting I will. I might die trying, but I WILL WIN.

On one hand I hate to make this a battle, but on the other hand I think, I didn't make this a battle, and I feel that I have no choice but to fight it. Practically speaking, the crib is no longer an option. He's too big for it and Walter needs it. And, Kevin and I need to buck up and get consistent with this or nap and bedtime is going to be a major pain in the wazoo (which, by the way, it already is). And, it is time for Henry to learn to stay in bed.

It was emotionally challenging. And not just because there were times when I wanted to holler, but because it was so emotionally challenging for him. It broke my heart that he wanted to read me a book, a book about feelings, no less. It killed me to not engage with him when he begged me to lay down with him. But, it's a very quick slippery slope, I have learned. Even throughout all of this, at one point nearing the end, I sat with him and gently stroked his head. And then he was up on his feet. So then so was I. I had thought I was in the clear, but I wasn't.

The battle continues.