A Pig in a Poke

When he was born, we gave him the name Henry, same as his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, but the nicknames came fast and furious. For a while he was just Baby, and around his first birthday there was a stretch where he inexplicably became Pony Boy. (My wife has an unnatural fascination with that original teen heart-throb vehicle, The Outsiders. That might be it.)

After Pony Boy came a slew of unoriginal tags: Little Man, Big Man, Big Boy, etc. Finally, when he was about a year old, we struck gold. As I was pulling Alison out of the bath one summer evening, I commented that she was kind of like a slippery fish, and she laughed as I wrapped her up in a towel. Henry was still happily splashing in the tub as Alison asked, "What is Henry?" I bent to lift him out and paused for a second, holding him aloft above the tub to let some of the water drip off. He squealed his displeasure, and the answer was obvious: "Henry's a slippery pig." Uproarious laughter from Alison -- and from Leslie who had overheard from the next room. A legend was born.

Two years later, the name has stuck, although it often takes on different forms. He's been Piggy, Piglet, Piggedy, Piggedy-Pie, and just the other day I tried a new one on for size, the Notorious P.I.G.

Usually, though, he's just The Pig, as in:

Did the pig have a nap today?
Can you change the pig's diaper?
What's the pig doing?

So now that Henry's reached the magic age of three (our kids tend to skip the terrible twos, preferring instead to let loose once they turn three), he's been living up to every ounce of his nickname. He can be quite a handful throughout the day, but my personal struggles with him usually center around bedtime.

The division of bedtime duties goes something like this: either Leslie or I will give Alison and Henry a bath, then I'll put the Pig down while Leslie takes care of Alison. Henry doesn't usually complain as we head to bed, because he loves reading books. (By the way, here's a book we've been reading every night, a library book that Alison chose especially for Henry: Snuffles and Snouts. It's a collection of poems about pigs. Honest.)

Anyway, Henry does fine with his bedtime routine. We always read three books, and if it's early we'll play a quick game of concentration (cards face up). When we're done, there might be a little bit of negotiation about whether he wants his fan on or off, if he wants to sleep with his baby or not, etc., but everything usually goes smoothly. I kiss him goodnight, close the door, and the rest of the night is mine.

At least that's how it used to be. About six months ago Henry realized that there was nothing keeping him in his bed after we said goodnight, and he started coming back out to the family room for one encore after another, as tireless as Springsteen.

No problem, I thought. I'm an experienced parent, so I can extinguish this in no time. We had this problem with Alison, so I knew exactly what to do. Each time he came out, all I had to do was put him back in bed while giving him absolutely no feedback. No encouragment, no scolding, not even any eye contact. Just pick him up and robotically put him back in bed, and he'd quickly stop coming out.

It didn't work. Some nights he would come out three or four times before tiring, but other nights he'd make upwards of twenty appearances over the course of thirty minutes to an hour. Sometimes he'd emerge blinking and unsure of himself, other times he'd burst out of his room and charge down the hallway, a one-boy running of the bulls. The most difficult was when he would come out crying. It was hard to pick up my crying son and put him back in his bed without making it all better, but I did it because I knew it was the right thing to do. Wasn't it?

It didn't work.

I changed tactics. First, the kinder, gentler approach. I'd give him a hug each time, remind him that he was a big boy, and tuck him back into bed. Then I'd wait outside in the hallway for a few minutes and whisper encouragement through the door. "You're doing a good job, Henry, I'm proud of you." Stuff like that.

It didn't work.

Another change in tactics -- scolding. Or, as my wife likes to refer to it, Daddy Hard-Ass. Each time he came out, I'd be as stern as possible: "Henry! Go back to bed!" He would usually smile at this and say no. Just what I was waiting for. (Look away if you're squeamish.) "Henry! Do you need a spanking?!" Sometimes he'd scramble back into his room, sometimes he wouldn't, but this wasn't really working either.

And then last week, after six long months, I thought we had a breakthrough. I was sitting down at the computer doing some work when Henry appeared at my side, clutching his baby. "What Daddy doing?" I was so tired of his game that I didn't even get up. I just told him to go to his room, close the door, and go to bed.

"Covers on, Daddy?"

I told him to put his feet under the covers, lie down, and pull the covers up.

"Okay, Daddy."

And get this -- he turned around and did exactly as I asked. The sound you hear is angels singing.

But alas, I forgot I was dealing with the Pig. The next night, things were back to normal, and they've stayed right there. Tonight he wandered out two or three times, and I'm fairly certain that tomorrow night will bring more of the same.

The good news, though, is that he turns four in February...

Comments

[debbie]

I was referred by Ms. Leslie and I'm glad, very funny, heartfelt post. You're a good daddy and Henry, aka the pig, is very good at being 3!!!

[Yvonne]

But what about little boef? - he still is.

Poor chap to be the middle child and the only boy. He's going to be so busy looking after his sisters when they are teenagers ;o)

[Joleen]

Oh man, pretty embarassing for me to be laughing outloud as I read this! Sorry! Three year olds!- I am sympathizing.

I wonder how it'll be when he's older- will his friends call him Pig?