Bedtime musings

Ask any mother what her favorite time of day is, and I'd say that majority of your answers will be 'Bedtime'! Anyone who says otherwise is secretly thinking that anyway.

As much as I love my two boys, I'm ready for a break once bedtime rolls around. Tonight, two books, one music CD, and last minute trip up to administer cough medicine and the promise of a spanking should I hear the tell-tale patter of feet on the ceiling, and finally it is quiet. But before I get into my projects, I have to make sure that sleep has indeed stolen them away.

First up, the toddler. My first baby, not a baby anymore,pushing even the boundaries of toddlerhood. He moves nonstop during the day, drawing from a reserve of energy that I marvel at constantly. He is still only in sleep. And yet, not still. He's decided to sleep curled up on the floor in the corner between his bed and the wall. It's tempting to leave him there, but I haul him up to his bed anyway, tucking in arms and legs that flail lifelessly this way and that. He's getting heavier. I can still manuever him for now, but how much longer?. One side of his head is damp and sweaty from being ground into the carpet, and it puts off a faint soapy scent from a pre-bedtime bath. I lay him on his back, and he readjusts himself onto his side, groaning softly. From the light in the hall, I can make out the traces of the infant I brought home three years ago. His mouth is slightly agape, drool pooling in the corner, threatening to spill over at any minute onto his beloved bug pillowcase. He sighs once more and settles into the deep breathing of sleep. I'm convinced.

On to the baby. Not yet three months old, we're still working on the concept that night is for sleeping, and sleeping for long stretches of time, at that. In fact, last night was the first six hour stretch that he slept and it was like cool water to my parched, tired body. I'm hoping he repeats it tonight. I creep up to the bassinet and peek over, half expecting to see bright eyes staring back at me and - thank you God! - he's out. I'm struck by how small he is, especially in comparison to the toddler I've just visited. And yet I can see how much he's grown, even in the twelve weeks since we brought him home. So small, so big. He's wormed his way out of his swaddling. I wrapped him tightly when I put him down, I know it. And yet somehow this tiny being who can't even support his own body weight can squirm out of this straightjacket of a blanket. He's only gotten one arm out, though, and his tight fist rests gently beside his head. His head is slightly damp too, perhaps sweaty from the struggle it took to liberate that one fist from the confines of his bedding. In the semi-darkness, I realize that I'm straining to see his chest rise and fall with each breath. He seems unnaturally still all of a sudden....wait....a big intake of air.....and back out again. Ok; still breathing. And then a fluttering of eyelids, a contorted face, and a cry that never quite makes it out....a few seconds later, his face relaxes and he's still once again. I'm convinced.

Back downstairs, I'm ready for Me time. I fix my tea, cue up my TiVo....and all I want to do is wake up my babies and revel in their sweetness.

November 2, 1996