Two

On the eve of Ian's second birthday I sang him a dozen lullabies.

Great Cubs Go
 Lullaby and goodnight
A tisket a tasket
Baa baa black sheep
Baby Beluga
 Happy Birthday
Repeat.

Usually, I force quit at the end of bedtime. Make myself put him him in the crib because the clock say 7:45 and experts say we put our babies to bed too late and if I wake up at 6 a.m. to shower he will be up too early and … stop.

Putting him to bed for the last couple months has been dicey. Not for anyone else. For my husband or my mom or a sitter he lays down, sticks a couple fingers in his mouth and says “night night.” But for me it's bloody murder. Screams and desperate cries for "more hugs" just "one more hug mommmmmmyyy."

Our bedtime routine is long from start to finish. My mom laughs when I tell her this and says "that was you. You said goodnight to your shadow." We do a bath most nights and 3 (or you know, 8) books while sitting on my big bed.

This next part is sort of a new addition and maybe part of the problem but it is my favorite:

We go in his room to sit together in the big comfy glider chair. He nuzzles into me and says “talk about Ian’s day” so I start “once upon a time, there was a little boy named Ian and he lived in a house with his mommy and daddy.” The I pick the highlights from the day’s events (playing, yummy food, outings), which is much easier when I’ve actually spent the day with him. On a work/school day there’s a lot of “and then we ate this and then we went in the car.” The narrative arc is not thrilling. Then he says “talk about train day” and I recount one particularly good Saturday (over a month ago!) that involved bagels for breakfast with daddy and a train trip into the city. We talk about making waffles together and spooning out the flour and oil. Or we talk about whoever came to visit us that day. We thank God for our life and our family and friends.

Then I sing a few lullabies, including our old Baby Beluga standby. I’ve been singing him that one the longest. Sometimes he sings along or fills in where I leave off. And he lets me rub his hair and trace his cheeks with my finger and really hold him. It isn’t often that a toddler will sit still for that.

And then I stand up to put him in the crib, and the negotiation starts. One more hug. Hug and kiss. Lay down, no lay down. It almost always ends with me leaving for a moment while he stands in the crib and works up a good wail, full on red faced with crocodile tears. I stand in the hall, cringing, then I come in for one last hug and kiss. It's so dramatic. And I worry that he’s too addicted to the snuggle and the crash. That I’m taking away his ability to self sooth and ought to just dump him in the crib and wave night night.

Tonight I realized I am wrong. He just wants more of me. More snuggles and songs and stories. I remember wanting the same things. More time in my mom’s lap. A longer hair rub. More lullabies. So tonight, as I thought about the night I went into labor two years ago, I grabbed a blanket and tucked us into the chair and sang all the songs. We told very long stories and he filled in details about how his Nonie also lives in our house, and how much he likes to play with his new dump truck, and about the cement mixer that lives outside in the road. And how we all sang happy birthday to him yesterday at the party and he blew out the candles.

If you had told me about all of this two years ago, it would have seemed impossible. How could a child that young do all those things? But he can, and he does. And he won’t fit in my lap forever.

Some nights I am tired and this isn’t going to happen. But tonight? Totally worked. He went to bed without a peep, grinning like he’d gotten away with something. Of course he did.