Yesterday I took Timmy to the bounce house before picking up Robby from school. I was determined to tire my little Hamlet out, hoping that he would sleep soundly through the night. He had a blast, squealing and laughing the entire time. Before I knew it, we had played and bounced for almost an hour and it was time to pick up Robby.
Actually, I was the one doing the majority of the bouncing. Timmy thoroughly enjoyed being the "popcorn" while I bounced around him. (Being the "popcorn" consists of laying down on the bouncer while somebody bounces and moves you around.) It turns out that being the "popcorn" isn't nearly as exhausting as being the one doing the bouncing. By the time we left the bounce house I was a red faced, sweaty mess.
My tucker out Timmy plan didn't work as expected. I was exhausted while he was thoroughly revved up. He ran around the house all evening, squealing and pushing the limits. Of course I had a hard time keeping up with him because I had bounced for an hour.
I finally just gave up and let him play with a roll of toilet paper. I figured that sacrificing a roll was worth the quiet time I was afforded. In a moment of sheer parental brilliance, I bribed Robby with a milkshake to pick up the scraps after his little brother went to bed.
I was hoping that the moon bounce excitement would catch up with my little guy, allowing him to sleep beyond 4 AM. Yet again, I was wrong and he was jumping around his crib ready to play at 3:50 this morning. Bouncing may not have impacted his sleep schedule, but it certainly wreaked havoc on mine. I fell asleep sitting in my rocking chair at 8:30 last night.