Matt and the Big Boy Bed.

So, Matt is two years old. And smarter than any two-year-old has the right to be. You can see the wheels turning in his head as he watches and figures things out, putting the pieces together. He may have been two months premature and have a speech delay, but the boy is practically an evil genius.

This past Friday, I woke up to an unexpected noise: the pitter-patter of little, two-year-old feet. Our house is set up with the kids above us, on the third floor and every room has that fake wood floor stuff, so any movement at all comes right through the ceiling. I went to check, and there was Matt, as happy as could be, throwing all kinds of toys into Lilly's crib. I was not ready for this at all.

Vanessa and I did the smart thing and turned his crib into a day bed.

Things went well until Monday. Monday was a big, fat pain in the ass. It took me two hours of screaming, shouting and fighting to get Matt to fall asleep for his nap. Every time I laid him down, he was up again, running around, sometimes before I had even left the room. Sometimes, he would look at me, and the look was 100%, "Yeah, I'm winning. Ha. Ha. Ha." Frustrated? You better believe it.

I got some sage advice from my mom, though. She told me to sit in there until he fell asleep. This seems like another pain in the ass, but one I could deal with. After all, sitting and watching my kids sleep is much less stressful than fighting with them. The first night, it went well. Last night? I stayed through the Hushabye Johnny Cash CD that we play and he was still awake.

Testing me. I'm sick, and ready to fall asleep while standing, let alone sitting in a glider, and I'd close my eyes. Randomly, from the darkness, "Da?" And he's staring intently at me, "I'm watching you, Dad. Slip up once, I dare you." Every once in awhile, he'd just slightly lift his head to make sure that I was still watching.

The boy is an evil genius.

But the jokes on him. In his quest to stay awake, he positioned his head closer to the edge than he did his feet. When I came downstairs, I said to Vanessa, "He's going to hit the floor."

An hour later, there was a loud thump from the third floor. Matt had hit the floor. No crying, no tears. He got up, crawled into the chair and quickly fell back to sleep. I went, picked him up and set him back in bed.

Because even evil geniuses need their sleep.