Mom? Dad? I'm Running Off to Tour with "Stomp"! Where are my Blundstones?

Max's legs in a rare movement-free moment.
We learned a valuable lesson the other night: do not engage the boy before bedtime!
Remember that episode of “WKRP in Cincinnatti” when Jennifer moves into a house that Les thinks is haunted? It’s a dark and stormy night, there’s a lightning strike, the power goes out, there are ghosts and, Jennifer, cool as a cucumber, says, “Ignore it.” You probably have to see it (and you should) but, the point remains: Do. Not. Engage. The. Boy!
It’s hard, ’cause some nights, we don’t see the boy much before bedtime. Bath-time begins with a head-washing on the changing table. For whatever reason, Max’s legs go nuts when you wash his head and face. And when I say “nuts” I mean kicking, swinging, shooting, lifting. It’s like he’s trying to ride some wild, ten-pedaled baby-bike. So, you combine missing the boy with cute baby action like that; it’s all you can do to not start “zerberting” his tummy and talking to him and tickling him and washing his head again just to make his legs go bonkers.
The other night, we did not “not do”, we “did” and bedtime became playtime. What was the awful crop we reaped from the seeds we had sown? About 25 minutes of Max crying (and screaming) himself to sleep, that’s what. A normal night would have Max sleeping after about five or ten minutes of fussing. Last night, we controlled ourselves, there was no zerberting, just quiet smiling and soft talking. He still rode his crazy bike when I washed his head but, into the crib he was placed and right to sleep he went.
To recap: Lightning? Ghosts? Les Nesman? Cute Baby? Zerberts? No! Calmness? Soothing Sounds? Sleep? Yes!