Nighttime Ritual

When they were babies, I nursed them every night and rocked them to sleep. I loved every moment. Though I was exhausted, the softness and smell of their baby skin was intoxicating. They were my happy place.

When they were toddlers, they didn’t want to sleep. Always afraid that they would miss something. Wanting to play for just a little longer. “Read it again, mommy.” “One more song.” It became tedious that what should have been an easy thing to do: Put them in their beds and turn off the light, a quick kiss and good-night became an hour-long ritual. I started to hate Curious George because he was all they wanted to read for days and weeks. I thought of hiding the books to give myself a break, but I never did.

I thought of letting them cry it out, but I never did. I always tried to take a mental break when the frustration started to sink in and remind myself that one day, I would miss this.

I rocked them until they were sleepy and sang until they were fast asleep. I started to get used to the fact that I had no nighttime ritual of my own. They were my ritual. Though tired and secretly wishing that they would start to fall asleep faster with each passing day, I felt blessed. Blessed to be needed and blessed to be loved. They still had their softness and baby smell. I was still under their spell.

When they were in preschool, they still wanted mommy at night. There were many who criticized and thought that they were big enough to go to sleep on their own. “Don’t baby them”, they would say. But they were my babies, so I didn’t listen. I knew that one day they wouldn’t want mommy, and I didn’t know how much time I had left. I still read and rocked and sang. The ritual continued, and I felt blessed.

Life moved us to another country, and there were new things to learn and plenty more to do. My nighttime ritual didn’t change. “Read it again, mommy.” “One more song.”

In our new country, things started to change. Dad traveled more, so I would be stuck with the dilemma and guilt of one of them going to bed alone. Why did I feel so bad? They were completely capable of going to sleep alone, and most often, they didn’t have a problem with it. It was my problem, so I managed to take turns with both. I went to bed guilt free.

Plenty of nights when my husband was home, he would suggest that the boys go to bed alone. I couldn’t even think of such an idea. What if they started to get used to that idea? They wouldn’t need me anymore.

I would lay with them for as long as they let me, because I knew that one day they wouldn’t. I could still feel their softness and smell their baby skin. I was still under their spell.

Time went on. Now at 9 and 7, they still ask for mommy, and I still go. We have moved on to longer stories, and many times, they read to me. Instead of “read it again, mommy”, it is now, “just one more chapter, mom.” The chapters are getting longer, but my name is getting shorter; I feel time starting to speed up.

There are still those who criticize. “They are too big. You don’t need to put them to sleep every night. You are babying them,” they say. But though they stand a head shorter and wear clothes and shoes that are gradually becoming big enough for me to fit, I still keep up our nighttime ritual, because I can still feel their softness and smell their baby skin.

If you would like to learn more about our life and travels, click one of the posts below or check out one of my other interesting categories.

Watch this video I made on Danish baby boy names! What you hear will definitely shock you!

Be sure to leave a comment below and tell me about your nighttime ritual with your little one! 🙂