Right. I didn't fight it, as my insistence yesterday when he told me the same thing resulted in 45 minutes of tears and screaming and he didn't end up sleeping anyway. So I let him come downstairs today and told him he could choose not to sleep, but I wasn't going to read him any books or play with him until his naptime was over. So he played with his Legos and told himself stories while I read about cabbages in Mother Earth News.
Shortly thereafter the amiable period ended and in order to stave off yet another meltdown that I was not emotionally prepared to handle, I told him I had a very special treat for him and turned on The Many Adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh, his favorite movie in the entire world. Also the only movie he's ever seen, but whatever.
Twenty minutes later . . .
Don't want to sleep, huh? LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE.
He slept about half an hour, then woke up and promptly had the meltdown I had been trying to avoid.
At least while he was asleep, so was the other one.
And no lying dramatics with this one, either.
Cubby has not yet refused his actual bedtime, although I am pessimistically anticipating that that will be the next step. And then you'll find me sobbing outside his bedroom door at 9 p.m. with a bottle of gin while he capers about, rejoicing in the fact that he has finally broken his mother.
Okay, maybe not the gin, but the sobbing might not be too far off base.