Of Bedtimes
Bedtime around here has always been my thing. In the beginning it's because I was the one who had to feed him before he he went down. Then it just morphed into, "okay, mama's putting you to bed!" Lewis can do it, of course, and does, when I go out, but when I'm home ... I put G to bed.
I'm not complaining. I mean sure, sometimes I do complain, but then I think ... if I were home, and Lewis wanted to do this ... would I let him?
Nope. Probably not. He'd have to beg.
It's one of the few quiet times. We have our bath, we sing in the tub, we splash and play. Or, if he's particularly tired, we do a quick rinse and a wash of the days peanut butter off ourselves and it's into the bedroom. We kiss Daddy goodnight. We put on desitin, the diaper, put medicine on the necessary spots of itchies. We do the lotion routine. He plays with the saline spray, or a comb, or the desitin cream. He's now started "helping" putting on the lotion. We put on our pajamas. We brush our hair. I ask, "do you want to read some books?" He says "yeah. bank-y?" I hand him his blanket. "mill?" he says. I hand him his cup of milk. I sit him in my lap.
We read three or four books. Depending on their length. I usually try to start with a longish one. Green Eggs and Ham, Boy You're Amazing, Llama Llama Red Pajama, Tumford the Terrible, Wemberly Worried. How the Grinch Stole Christmas was in there at Christmas time (obviously). Then smaller books; Sandra Boynton, Eric Carle. Little Blue Truck, Click Clack Moo, Going on a Bear Hunt. Where is the Green Sheep is his favorite, still. When we get to the last page (with the green sheep) he kisses the book. Uncle Brian gave us this book, I don't know that he remembers that. But we do.
Then we read Pajama Time or The Going to Bed Book as the last book. One of these is always the last book. It's pretty funny because when I read either one of them he starts blinking and yawning. And sometimes if I pick it up too soon, he swats it away and points to the bookcase asking for a different one.
Then we turn out the light, and I rock him a bit more while he finishes his milk (if he hasn't already pushed it away). He'll push it away when he's done. Sometimes there's game play here ... he'll grab my nose, push my head away, I loll it back and he laughs. Eventually I'll have to grab his hand and shush him; it's quiet time now.
He'll finish with his milk. I have to give him his medicine (which he takes like a champ now). And then he'll point to his crib. The last few nights I've asked him if he's ready for bed ... he says "yeah." I kiss his little cheek, tell him I love him, and lay him down.
And the last few nights he's said "bye" when I lay him down and tonight, before he said bye, he said something that I think was his attempt at "I love you."
My heart runneth over.
Moments like that are why I so willingly, every night I can, put my son to bed. It took a while to get here, by the way, but for the last year or so, with hiccups now and again, it's been the exact routine I've outlined here. And it's been pretty pleasant lately, and it's very sweet.
I'm not complaining. I mean sure, sometimes I do complain, but then I think ... if I were home, and Lewis wanted to do this ... would I let him?
Nope. Probably not. He'd have to beg.
It's one of the few quiet times. We have our bath, we sing in the tub, we splash and play. Or, if he's particularly tired, we do a quick rinse and a wash of the days peanut butter off ourselves and it's into the bedroom. We kiss Daddy goodnight. We put on desitin, the diaper, put medicine on the necessary spots of itchies. We do the lotion routine. He plays with the saline spray, or a comb, or the desitin cream. He's now started "helping" putting on the lotion. We put on our pajamas. We brush our hair. I ask, "do you want to read some books?" He says "yeah. bank-y?" I hand him his blanket. "mill?" he says. I hand him his cup of milk. I sit him in my lap.
We read three or four books. Depending on their length. I usually try to start with a longish one. Green Eggs and Ham, Boy You're Amazing, Llama Llama Red Pajama, Tumford the Terrible, Wemberly Worried. How the Grinch Stole Christmas was in there at Christmas time (obviously). Then smaller books; Sandra Boynton, Eric Carle. Little Blue Truck, Click Clack Moo, Going on a Bear Hunt. Where is the Green Sheep is his favorite, still. When we get to the last page (with the green sheep) he kisses the book. Uncle Brian gave us this book, I don't know that he remembers that. But we do.
Then we read Pajama Time or The Going to Bed Book as the last book. One of these is always the last book. It's pretty funny because when I read either one of them he starts blinking and yawning. And sometimes if I pick it up too soon, he swats it away and points to the bookcase asking for a different one.
Then we turn out the light, and I rock him a bit more while he finishes his milk (if he hasn't already pushed it away). He'll push it away when he's done. Sometimes there's game play here ... he'll grab my nose, push my head away, I loll it back and he laughs. Eventually I'll have to grab his hand and shush him; it's quiet time now.
He'll finish with his milk. I have to give him his medicine (which he takes like a champ now). And then he'll point to his crib. The last few nights I've asked him if he's ready for bed ... he says "yeah." I kiss his little cheek, tell him I love him, and lay him down.
And the last few nights he's said "bye" when I lay him down and tonight, before he said bye, he said something that I think was his attempt at "I love you."
My heart runneth over.
Moments like that are why I so willingly, every night I can, put my son to bed. It took a while to get here, by the way, but for the last year or so, with hiccups now and again, it's been the exact routine I've outlined here. And it's been pretty pleasant lately, and it's very sweet.
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