Once upon a time, there was a woman called Mummy who really wanted to fall asleep.
The Mummy did not get half the sleep she wanted (or needed), because her cheeky two year old did not believe in sleep, either for himself or for anyone else in the house.
Not ever, now. No, never.
All the Mummy wanted to do was to fall into a deep sleep in her beautiful King size bed, and sleep for more than five hours in a row, without being poked by pointy little elbows or shouted at by tiny humans who possess voices that belie their size.
The Mummy did not think this an unreasonable request.
In an attempt to get more sleep, the Mummy decided to buy a special book that promised to put the cheeky two year old to sleep, right now, by telling him how he was so tired from all the playing and running and jumping and shouting he had done that day, and explaining that he would be ready to fall asleep, now, before Mummy had even finished reading the (surprisingly long and creepy) story.
The Mummy could've told the book's author that the cheeky two year old did not give two stuffs about being tired, and would happily stay awake for days at a time if he had any say in the matter. The Mummy could've also told the author that the cheeky two year old takes orders from no one, and especially not from a strange book that somehow knows his name (Note: the reader is advised to insert the child's name at various points).
"NO! Not ME in book! Me NOT in book! Me not want me in there!"
(We're still working on personal pronouns).
In fact, the cheeky two year old decided that not only would this book not make him sleepy at all, it would actually wind him up to the point where he started climbing the bed rails and attempting bed-crobatics, while giggling maniacally and singing the Paw Patrol theme tune.
The Mummy would also like to advise the book's author that a stoned looking snail with a creepy old man's face, and a strange wizard who sprinkles magical sleepy powder on people, are not suitable characters to help get any child to relax and get any closer to sleep either.
"No Mummy, I no like snail, snail BORING, snail SCARY!"
Similarly, the Mummy would like to suggest to the author that telling a sleep-dodging child to relax, now, and having the reader yawn frequently throughout the story, is far from a winning strategy for such a child.
For the Mummy, on the other hand, this strategy proved most effective.
Half way through page 6, as she completed yawn number 57 (as instructed), the Mummy fell into a deep sleep, later described by the cheeky two year old as "noisy and wet". (His wet pillow and the dried drool on the side of the Mummy's face on waking proved part of this story to be true. The "noisy" claim is under dispute).
While the Mummy slept, the cheeky two year old took the opportunity to remove all of his clothes and start experimenting with a new hair style, using that well loved hair styling product - Sudocrem. Once he tired (ha!) of that game, he decided to wake his big sister (who had dutifully fallen asleep after just one story), and lead her on an unsupervised adventure into the kitchen.
The Mummy woke after some time to find one child covered in Sudocrem and the other, previously sleeping child, eating chocolate cake straight out of the fridge.
The Mummy was not happy and promptly lost her shit, ensuring that both children and the Mummy would be too upset to fall asleep for many hours to come. The chocolate cake certainly did not help matters.
The Mummy promised herself then and there that she would never fall for another advertising gimmick making claims of 'practically guaranteed' child sleep again. Although the Mummy seems to think she has probably made this promise before, but is far too sleep deprived to remember the details.
NOTE: If you haven't heard of the book The Rabbit Who Wants To Fall Asleep then you're probably wondering what the hell you just read.
The Rabbit Who Wants To Fall Asleep is a new book that 'practically guarantees' to send your kid to sleep, using hypnotic phrasing and by getting the reader to put unnatural emphasis on certain words (in bold). And yawning a lot. It's quite creepy. But parents the world over are swearing by it.
I am just swearing!
I'm not saying it doesn't work. In fact, my four year old was out like a light before I got half way through. But I can categorically confirm that it does not work for the cheeky two year old!
This post was originally published on Toilets aren't for Turtles.
About the Author
Rachel is a seriously sleep-deprived mum of two who relies on coffee, sarcasm and sensible shoes to get through the day. She blogs at Toilets aren't for Turtles, about the WTF moments of parenting, and the general absurdity of raising tiny humans. You can follow her on Facebook and Twitter.