It’s no secret that my firstborn and sleep did not go together.
I was still lying next to him, listening to sleep stories and waiting for him to drift off, until I was eight months pregnant with our second.
Then the baby arrived and Mr Beige Mum took over toddler sleep.
And somehow, unfairly, they nailed it.
Tuck into bed. Goodnight. Kiss. Walk out.
The boy who was once allergic to sleep was suddenly falling asleep independently. If he woke during the night, he would quietly wander into the big bed with Dad and go straight back to sleep.
It really was the dream.
For them, anyway.
I, of course, had a newborn who was desperately hungry every two hours because apparently this is not my sleep season. But still, the toddler side of things was working. We were even getting some nights where he slept through.
And there is something about finally getting one part of parenting to feel manageable that makes you almost scared to say it out loud.
Like if you say, “He’s sleeping better now,” the universe hears you and immediately starts drafting a new character-building experience.
Our household runs on routine and schedules. I feel better when I know what is happening in my day and, naturally, so does our toddler. Honestly, I am not mad about it. When you find a routine that works, you cling to it like it’s the last clean dummy in the house.
But the weekend just gone proved exactly how much our toddler relies on things happening the way they usually do.
Mr Beige Mum had my brother-in-law’s bucks party and, well, it turned into a late one.
I had already pre-empted this after receiving a rather merry phone call at 6pm, so I knew the bedtime routine was going to be a little out of whack.
But it was fine.
I’m the mum.
I can handle it.
Famous last words, obviously.
The baby was overtired after spending the afternoon at wine and nibbles with the girls, but the toddler was in bed by 7:30pm because the routine does not stop for socialising. Especially at night.
The baby was finally asleep and I was rocking her quietly, eating choc chip biscuits and watching the footy before attempting the highly dangerous sleeping baby transfer.
You could even say I was enjoying 15 minutes of peace before clocking in for my night shift, with no clue when Mr Beige Mum would arrive home.
Then, out of nowhere, I was abruptly greeted by a hysterical toddler coming down the stairs saying he couldn’t find anyone.
Cue me frantically trying to comfort him while praying the baby didn’t wake.
Also cue a very calm and measured text to Daddy that may or may not have said, “Time to get the fuck home, we’re going to be in for a long one.”
Can you tell I lash out when I’m flustered?
The toddler climbed into the big bed sobbing, and eventually fell asleep after I reassured him that I was right next door with the baby, all the doors were open, and Dad would be home soon.
Fast forward to the morning and things were back to normal.
I was also gently reminded how nice it is to not have a hangover and have to parent.
But that night, our toddler had suddenly developed a fear of sleeping in his own bed.
There were monsters.
There were bad dreams.
There were actual tears of fear at bedtime.
And it wasn’t just annoying in the way toddler bedtime can be annoying. He was genuinely scared, and that little face broke me a bit.
Because as much as I wanted the routine back, I also wanted him to feel safe in his own room again.
Fine. Into the big bed with Dad you go. It was Sunday and Dad was very much looking for an easy night.
Naturally, I started Googling.
“Sudden fear of sleeping alone 3 year old.”
“Do toddlers have bad dreams?”
“Three year old scared of the dark.”
“Will I ever sleep again or is this just who I am now?”
And of course, the internet told me what it always tells you when you are desperate for an immediate fix.
It’s developmental.
It’s normal.
It will pass.
Great. Helpful. Love that for us.
The next night we suggested he try his own bed again.
Meltdown.
Actual fear.
Naturally, I blamed my husband and his need to be the last man standing for ruining the routine.
Was this probably going to happen sooner or later? Yes.
Was I still blaming him? Also yes.
But underneath the frustration, I knew this was one of those tiny parenting shifts that feels huge when you’re in it.
The kind where you’re tired, touched out, overstimulated and trying to be calm, while also silently calculating how many nights this new phase is going to steal from you.
So the next morning, I continued my research into how to help a suddenly terrified three-year-old sleep alone.
That’s when I came across people using sleep spray as a monster deterrent.
So I found a sleep spray he hadn’t seen before and decided that was now officially monster spray.
Then I thought new bedding might help make his room feel exciting again. A novelty. A lure. A parenting bribe dressed up as emotional support.
Because sometimes the answer is not a perfect parenting strategy.
Sometimes it is making the scary thing feel a little softer.
So off we went to the happiest place on earth.
Kmart.
He chose some new snuggly flannelette sheets, then we went to Bed Bath N’ Table where he picked out a new doona cover.
Also flannelette, because apparently he has taste.
And I think I may have cracked this particular level of parenting Jumanji.
Once the bed was made that night, he was actually excited to get in.
He climbed in and said, “Ooh, this is lovely and cosy.”
And then he slept through the night.
As I write this, he has been in bed for nearly an hour. Night two in his new flannelette haven.
Will this be the permanent fix? Who knows.
I am not silly enough to make bold claims about toddler sleep on the internet.
But for now, his room feels safe again. He feels proud of his new bed. And I feel like I pulled a very small rabbit out of a very tired hat.
So sometimes parenting is about patience, emotional regulation and meeting your child where they’re at.
And sometimes it’s about monster spray, fresh sheets and finding a reason to go shopping.