I got home from work late tonight, nearly an hour after the kids went to bed. I always feel vaguely guilty when I miss bedtime, both because my husband has to get both kids down and because I miss being a part of the last few moments of their day.
Which is not to say that I don’t frequently try to hustle through bedtime as quickly as possible so I can get my ass settled back into the deep couch grooves calling my name. I love them but Mama is tired, you know?
But, back to my sweet and gentle good mother musings on bedtimes…
Tonight I was able to peek in on the boy when he was about 95% asleep and, oh my heart, he looked like his baby self for a minute there. Then he opened his eyes and whispered “Come snuggle me Mama?” and I crawled into his twin bed and pulled his warm little body into my arms. He sighed and his eyelids fluttered for a minute and he drifted off to sleep.
He is getting so big. I don’t get many chances to hold him while he sleeps, to see his long eyelashes against his cheek, to see his skinny little chest rising and falling, his hands that are usually busy turning Legos into guns curled around a stuffed Snoppy wearing his underwear as pajamas instead.
Five years ago he’d sleep on my chest. Five years from now he’ll be able to put himself to bed and who knows if he’ll want me to snuggle him anymore.
Thanks for tonight, sweet sleeping Bobo.
(I know this post is cheesy. I do. I also teared up while watching a coke commercial today (this one) and had a dinner that was equal parts Fritos and Rice Krispie treats, so, uh, you do the math on where I might be in my cycle right now)