I hate bedtime.
There. I said it.
The shenanigans, the whining, the “one more make-up story”, the “rub my back until I fall asleep.”
It’s so much more pleasant putting the 18-month old to bed. A song, a story, bottle of milk, night night kisses and done. Door closes and that’s that.
The other two? Oy, it’s an hour-long ordeal. And it’s March Break and I can’t use “It’s a school night” on them.
Someone help me, please!
I’d rather stab a fork in my eye than try to put those two kids to bed.
Does that make me a bad mommy? I certainly feel like it sometimes.