We’ve angered the gods. The gods of sleep and phlegm are really kicking our a$$es these days. I don’t know what we did. I know the goddess of sleep, Nyquilla, needs a nightly gift of human mouth fluid (drool) to keep my family asleep. I do my best to comply. The god of phlegm, Kleenexias, has always been troublesome for us. These days, Kleenexias is being a real d!ck. Boychild’s nose is red and raw from the constant wiping, and his cheeks look like those of an ill-painted 19th century strumpet. “Chapped” would be putting it mildly, even though we grease him with Vaseline on the regular. I have no clue how this child issues forth such a freakin’ font of snot. Oh, the rivulets. Oh, the crust. I’ve been sick for so long that I’ve just accepted that my breathing like Linda Blair in The Exorcist is my new normal.

Okay, that’s enough of the metaphors and similes. Me and Boychild are gross. Getting less- so by the day, but yeah, we’re still pretty disgusting with our colds(?). Husband doesn’t seem to get sick. I think this is due to the fact that he may very well be Zeus incarnate. Or some sort of supernatural being to which mortal laws don’t apply. Just don’t ask him to put a jug of milk in the recycling bin.

Along with both me and BC being sick (we call ourselves Team Super Cough Buddies) Boychild transitioned to a BIG BED! This was very exciting, very easy and really cool. For two days. Then, Boychild refused to sleep in the bed. Have I told you that my son is very headstrong? Well, he is VERY HEADSTRONG. He is no shrinking violet. He’s more of a kicking nettle.

I’m trying to drag forth an account of our travails from the depths of my mind, but details are fuzzy because 1. I haven’t had a lot of sleep and 2. I think I’ve blocked a lot of it out. Basically, the nights of big boy bed brouhaha went something like this: we’d put BC in bed. he’d have a request (wipe my nose, potty, one more song) then husband or I would perform said request. Minutes later, the door would open and another request would issue forth, the most heart-breaking of which were the requests to stay. “Cuddle with me!” “Stay for just ten minutes, mama,” says the toddler who has no idea of time. At first, I tried to stay ’til he fell asleep, but as soon as I creaked a board of wood or coughed, he’d wake up and scream, “No! Don’t go!!! Don’t GOHHHHHH!” I succumb, laying back down until his breathing deepens. The floor creaks as I leave, he freaks and grabs me. I’m not sure if you’ve had this experience, but having to disentangle yourself from a sad, snotty toddler who desperately wants you to sleep beside them is heartbreaking. Prying my shirt from my tired, crying child’s damp fist makes me feel like a monster. A momster.

He hated his big bed. HATED IT. So I tried to make it more like a crib. I put a fitted sheet over the bedposts. He tore them down. I put metal chairs up against the bed to replicate crib bars. He turned them over in a white-hot rage. I told my mother this and she wearily laughed. “He’s testing you,” she said. “You just need to show him who’s boss. Don’t put up with that mess.” Easy for her to say. I’ve got a pissed off toddler breaking into my bedroom at 2am, screaming in my face. What I want is to fall asleep and in order to do that, he needs to sleep, too, so if he wants a bed made out of giraffe tails, I’m going to make it happen. Currently, he’s living like a college freshman: mattress on the floor, cheap lamp with a color-changing bulb and posters of space tacked on the wall. All that’s missing is the dirty gym socks and dried ramen.

As of press time, we’ve reached a détente. I read a NYT article that inspired me to give him a “get out of bed free” ticket. One per night. Once he uses that ticket, it’s done- no more requests or hopping up to go to the potty. It’s been working well, and this morning, he was telling imaginary Dora the Explorer that she “gets ONE ticket and then no more out of bed.” I think it’s going to be okay.

But what I bemoan is that one day he will want to be far away from me, so I want to soak up all the love and attention he needs from me now. I still want to hold him and baby him and snuggle him until he falls asleep. But there’s a discrepancy between what I want and what I believe is ultimately best for him. I feel like this is the first of many such cases. I think parenting is a battle between what you want right now and what is best for the kid in the long term. Right now, I’ll settle for the uneasy peace of a toddler-free bed.