The Work in Progress Mommy

My Toddler, The Tiny Emotional Dictator

Last night, bedtime at our house turned into what I can only describe as a Netflix drama series, directed entirely by my 3.5-year-old daughter.

Scene 1.
We’re reading her bedtime story, a ritual she treats like a constitutional right. Usually, she likes to finish every sentence herself. So there I was, reading away peacefully, when my husband, in a burst of paternal enthusiasm, decided to pitch in and finish the line instead.

Big mistake.

Cue instant meltdown.

Tears. Screams. World ending. The works. For 30 minutes straight, she cried and cried, as if someone had told her Bluey was cancelled forever. Apparently, Daddy’s unsolicited line-ending was an act of pure betrayal. Who knew bedtime stories required exclusive speaking rights?

Finally, after a river of tears and a promise from us on “never doing this again,” she quietened down. I thought – ah, peace at last. Silly me.

Scene 2.
We’re about to drift off to sleep, feeling like victorious parents who survived another day, when I turned to my husband and whispered, “Love you.”

He replied, “Love you too.”

Suddenly, from the darkness, came a tiny trembling voice:
“Why did you say I love you to each other? I have to say it to you both…”

And just like that, we were back to Season 2 of Bedtime Meltdowns. Tears streamed down her face again, because clearly, saying “I love you” to each other without including her was a crime against toddler humanity.

So there I was, cajoling her, taking her to pee, doing all the midnight mom things to soothe my little dictator back to sleep. Meanwhile, my husband… drifted peacefully off into dreamland, blissfully unaware of the negotiations happening beside him.

Just when I thought the drama was over, at 1 AM, she declared it was “Bannu time.”
Because obviously, after a night of heartbreak, power struggles, and constitutional violations, she was famished and what she needed was… a banana.

Finally, with Bannu eaten and tears wiped, she drifted off. By the time I entered lala land, it was well past 1:30 AM.

Lessons learned:

✔ If you think you’re in charge, you’re wrong.
✔ Bedtime is never just bedtime. It’s a multi-chapter saga with plot twists.
✔ Never end her line in the storybook without an official decree.
✔ And always keep bananas stocked for late-night emotional snack emergencies.

But in all seriousness, her tears taught me something profound. She wants to feel powerful, included, and deeply loved. Even if that means reading stories under her dictatorship, synchronising “I love you” choruses, and feeding her bananas at 1 AM.

After all, if her little world is built on bedtime stories, emotional meltdowns, and Bannu at midnight, it’s a kingdom I’m grateful to be part of – as long as I remember who the real ruler is.