These past couple of weeks I’ve taken over Noah’s bedtime routine with a vengeance. I push Tim out of the way and demand our baby all to myself. I want to watch him splash in the tub and create imaginary storylines between Elmo, Ernie and their boat. I want to chase him, dripping, down the hallway towards his room, leaving the towel in his wake. I want to slip his little feet into his jammies and hear him say “Feet INNNNN!” and giggle uncontrollably. I want to brush his hair and his teeth and sing our songs about getting clean. I want to help him pick out his favorite books to read and watch his face light up when we settle into our rocking chair with the well-loved story about farm animals. I want to hold him close to me while we read “one more story, Mommy”. I want to rock him and sing to him and run my fingers through his hair while he begins his descent into sleep. I want to lay him in his crib and hear him ask me to “rub back please” before slipping out the door.
Of course I will, baby. Of course I will for as long as you need me to.
What once was a rushed process to end our long day has become my absolute favorite time. I get so few hours with Noah each day and I'm savoring every minute that we have together. At this time of day, I watch the clock less and settle into the two of us resting together. I remember reading some of your accounts rocking your babies and I never realized just how precious that time is to a working mother. I get it now. I really get it.