I was attempting to lay Evie down to sleep the other night. I knew going into it, it would be hard. It was late and way past her bedtime. She stayed up because both Gianna and Scarlett had nighttime activities and Vince and I needed to be in two places at once. The joys of having three kids.
Evie, at that point, was running on fumes. But, when this child is on fumes, she doesn’t typically crash. She turns into a gremlin, screaming and flinging her body around like she’s possessed, or a straight up boss with time sensitive demands that must be met exactly how she envisions them.
Tonight, it would be boss. Here’s how it played out.
We arrive home. She wants some “num nums.” Not wanting to get into anything too messy but also wanting to give her something healthy, I offer blueberries and put some in a cup.
“No, moothbie”, she says.
That’s smoothie in Evie speak. All parents know the joys of translating toddler speak. You are bilingual for a period of time.
A smoothie seemed too involved, especially since I had already put the blueberries in the cup and was ready to go upstairs. I just wanted to get this beast to bed. I told her no, let’s have blueberries instead.
Upstairs
We walk upstairs and arrive in her room. During this time, she kept saying “moothbie” over and over again. As she lifted her arms and I tried to take off her stain-splattered shirt, she said “moothbie” even as the shirt got stuck on her head and covered part of her mouth.
Clearly, she had no interest in the blueberries. She wanted a smoothie.
After saying no and offering the damn blueberries at least 8 times, I finally said whatever. Toddler parents say whatever at least 10 times a day. You go through the no’s, but eventually you run out. Whatever’s are your brain’s way of shutting down and preserving sanity for the next day.
Back downstairs
I finish putting her in pj’s and tell her to stay in her room. I’ll get her a smoothie. Grabbing the blueberries off her dresser, I walk downstairs. I was pretty sure she was not going to eat those things. I pop a few in my mouth as I get her sippy cup out and begin pouring her a smoothie. Seconds later, she crashes into the kitchen. So much for staying in your damn room.
“Hi Mom!”
Good God, he makes them so cute for a reason. I hand her the smoothie and she takes a sip, happy that she got her way. She hands it back to me because of course the princess cannot carry her own cup up the stairs. That’s a peasant’s job.
Back upstairs
Smoothie in hand, I follow her up the steps. We snuggle up in her chair, I cover her with her blanket just the way she likes and begin reading her bedtime story as she slings back her smoothie. Halfway through the book, she finishes her cup, and peers over at her dresser and requests her blueberries.
Oh fuuuuuuuuck. Really? I told her no and said she could have them tomorrow. I had taken them downstairs already.
You know where this goes…
Back downstairs
After she has a mini meltdown about the missing blueberries, I fume out of the room, muttering to myself that if I wouldn’t have taken them downstairs, she wouldn’t have wanted them, she probably won’t eat them anyways and this is why people drink, dammit.
I refill the blueberry cup in the kitchen, trying to maintain my cool.
Back upstairs
Entering Evie’s room, she’s perched in the chair, like a princess on her throne waiting for her offering. I hand her the berries.
“Tank too,” she says, taking the cup.
I pick her up and sit back down in the chair. She snuggles back on my lap, holding the cup as I wrap her in the blanket and finish the rest of book one and book two. The whole time, the cup is perched in her hands, untouched. After finishing the stories, she hands me the cup of berries and says “morrow.”
I look at her.
She looks at me.
“You mean you made Mommy go downstairs to get something you’re just going to eat tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” she said, and I swear I saw a mischievousness twinkle in her sleepy eyes.
Psychopath, I think to myself, you’re a psychopath. I took the cup of berries, put it on the ground next to us, and put her to bed.