In our house, my husband is always a hands-on dad when it comes to putting our kids to bed, so allow me to issue the disclaimer that yes, I'm lucky, and yes, he's a great dad.
But as amazing as it is to have a husband who helps at bedtime, I've also got a big bone to pick with him about it: He drags bedtime with our kids out forever and I kinda sort of hate him for it.
Now before you go thinking I'm some kind of monster, let me explain: By bedtime every night, I am done. Over it. Dunzo. I am a work-at-home mom with a baby, a puppy, and no child care.
By bedtime, I'm so exhausted I can barely see straight
I'm so ready for my bed, and maybe a book — if I can prop my eyeballs open for long enough to read a word — or some mindless scrolling.
I've dedicated my entire adult life to being home with my kids, for 10 straight years now. That means I have been the primary parent, the one who is always home, the one who is available and ready to pick up a sick kid, the one whose entire life has been arranged around other people, all while still making a full-time income from home.
For me, that means I have had to learn certain survival skills to make it through. One of them is knowing my limits. And my limit is reached at about 8 p.m. every single night.
As a result, I'm of the belief that bedtime should be a simple process
Tuck in, prayer, quick check-in, kiss, lights out, and done. I mean, I have 5 children. Even doing the most minimal amount of work possible is a lengthy process, so I like to set the precedent that Mama needs sleep too.
The only problem with my master sleep plan is that my husband seems intent on destroying it. While I'm trying to flee from the room, my husband is flopping on the bed with our pretween, "connecting" and all that crap, giving in to my daughter's demands for 18 bedtime stories, and patiently dealing with each kid who inevitably sneaks down the stairs (which only happens, in my opinion, because they know they can get away with it from him). His bedtime process, unlike my own, can easily drag on for over two hours.
And while I will give you that the man is probably a saint, can I just admit…
I still hate him for it
I hate that he is obviously a better person than me, that my children have proclaimed that mom is "grumpy" at bedtime, and that their memories of childhood will be of me rushing out of their rooms while they blissfully snuggle with their ever-loving father. Hmmpph.
Clearly, this bothers me, and the way I see it, I have a few options: I could suck it up and get on my husband's level, joining in the cuddles and bedtime chats, I could have a serious heart-to-heart with my husband and get him on the same page as me about the sacred duty to keep bedtime fast and easy for my sanity's sake, or …
I could simply let him handle it all, and happily snuggle up in my own bed, knowing that we all have our parenting strengths and weaknesses, and that I'm lucky to have him on my team to sub in when I'm feeling tired.
