Sleepy time takes on a whole new meaning

My favorite time of day with my son is bedtime. I know that sounds like I can’t wait to get my kid to sleep so I can have some alone time, but it’s not like that at all.

I love the fact that this is the only time of day when he settles down enough for us to sit quietly together and there’s nothing more wonderful than your little one drifting off to sleep on your shoulder.

We have this ritual every single night. I turn off the lights in the living room and kitchen and we sit on the couch with my husband. Sometimes we read a book, sometimes we watch the Tigers. He has some milk to fill up his tummy and I give him his favorite blanket and off we go to his room.

Now, for a long time, the story ends a few minutes later with a sleeping boy in his crib and me happily getting ready for bed myself. What has been the case as of late, however, is a wild animal that somewhat resembles my child, only this creature bucks like a bronco, swings like a boxer and screams like a hyena.

I have developed several strategies for dealing with this creature. Sometimes I can calm him in the rocking chair; other times I can hold him standing up and he settles down. On the worst days, I have to put him in his crib for a few minutes and let him calm down before I’ll pick him back up.

A few days ago, we had a particularly bad night where I had to go through all of the aforementioned techniques. Once he calmed down a bit in the crib — but was still standing up staring at me — I picked him back up to rock him to sleep.

I realized immediately that I had played right into his hand. In an instant, his little arm swung round and locked around my neck. Now, having no formal martial arts training, I was ill equipped with what to do next. I have, however, seen a few MMA bouts on television — thanks, hubby — and recognized the chokehold.

Our cheeks where smooshed together, his head was nuzzled into my neck and I could barely breathe. I started to pull away, but the boa constrictor baby in my arms only took that as a chance to squeeze tighter. I knew my only choices were to suffer a screaming fit or hope for him to succumb to slumber.

Even when he stopped moving and his breathing was deep and even, I couldn’t even pull away enough to break our cheek-to-cheek contact without panicked whimpering.

I’m not really sure what happened after that. After all, I was pretty lightheaded and may or may not have temporarily lost consciousness, but it seemed to all work out in the end because we both survived.

It makes me a little leery now, however, that he has a sound strategy to keep me from leaving his bedroom and putting him down. I suppose I should start brushing up on defensive tactics.

And maybe wear a helmet … yeah, definitely wear a helmet.

—  Sarah Leach is managing editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.