Your many excellent suggestions were deeply appreciated. Scott and I read each one, and realized how little we knew--like how many people drug their children into unconsciousness. Wow! That must be in style, these days! We laughed at several of your commiserating anecdotes (the highlight being M.C. whispering “Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong with my butt”). Anyway, as it turned out, the best way to get your kid to sleep is to write about his not-sleeping on the Internet.
Seriously, the day I posted this, he went to bed with nary a peep. I think he saw the determined glint in my eyes and the staple gun in my hand. (What was the staple gun for? I wasn’t saying.)
Actually, I gave him a little speech about how we were going to be cold and unfeeling and we weren’t going to give into his pint-sized demands anymore. He gave me the wet Bambi eyes and the quivering bottom lip and said, “But I’ll just be alone,” and then we discussed ways he could feel less alone, like leaving the door open or playing music (Music! And books on tape! Why didn’t I think of those!). He rejected all my ideas as “not good,” but then he went to sleep, so I didn’t care. And last night, even though he was sick with intestinal difficulties, some classical music (“classy music,” according to Henry) put him right to sleep. Although he did wake up several times in the night to announce, “I think I’m pooping.” And, poor boy, he was all too correct.