Bedtime has become an epic battle of wits at our house, which is unfortunate for me because I have learned that my daughter is much wittier than me. She knows that she holds all the power at bedtime, because I will do ANYTHING to convince her to go to bed. If she required 20 mattresses and 20 featherbeds to reduce her sensation of a pea, I would willingly rent a U-Haul and go straight to the furniture store.
Tonight, I read three books, told four stories (which would all likely be Pulitzer Prize winners if written and published) and took numerous trips up and down the stairs to retrieve the items required to meet her demands. She needed a magic wand, a magic light, a cage for her pony (“No, Mommy! Pony needs the big cage, not the little one!”) and shoes so that her feet wouldn’t get wet. I didn’t even question that last request because the answer wouldn’t make any sense to me anyhow.
I looked in on her a little while ago and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her sleeping. I wasn’t sure if she would even fit in the bed with a drumstick, a flashlight, two colanders, and galoshes, but none of it appeared to be any more bothersome than a pea to my princess.