Why Are We Rushing?

When bedtime rolls around I am usually pretty tired, especially if it is a Saturday or Sunday because that means no daycare and my husband’s been working all day.

I look forward to bath time because, although it will take forever and I will have to drag W kicking and screaming into his room, it signals the final task. Stories — the final frontier. After the stories I get to watch Top Chef and eat a chocolate bar (on a good day). Lately, though, W has reverted to staying up for a solid hour after the stories and sometimes playing quietly, but sometimes crying out for me to come back and “lay with him.” I hate this. I want an hour alone; I don’t want to lie in a Lightning McQueen bed and be poked at. I would say that 50% of the time I cave and lie down. But tonight, as I threatened to leave unless he closed his eyes, I had a thought: It won’t be long before I won’t be allowed in his room, and I definitely won’t be asked to come back in and snuggle. I had brunch with a friend and her ten-year-old today; he was already waaay too cool for school. He only hugged her once as a fake-out for her iPhone.

I sat on the edge of W’s tiny, uncomfortable bed and tried to really take in the moment. I looked at the books and stuffed animals thrown around. I looked at his adorable footed pajamas and the penguin bandage on his forehead (there is no real boo boo under it), and I looked at myself. Why was I desperate to leave his room? Only thirty minutes earlier during bath, my husband left for work and W said, “Mommy, you don’t work.” And I said to him, “You are my life’s work.” He didn’t reply.

It’s true (if a bit dramatic), but then here I was practically peeling him off of me so I could do what? Not much. Don’t get me wrong, I know mommys need time and I know bed time can’t go on for two hours, but really, where exactly am I rushing off to?

As I said, my husband was at work, LouLou was already sleeping, and other than this blog post percolating in my head and some Facebook time (oh, and laundry), what did I have to do? So I sat there and sat there, and we giggled, and he said drowsy things like, “I am an orange octonaut,” and then I said, “I'm leaving.” He grabbed my fingers and said, “I still have you,” and looked right into my eyes like only he can. He does, he still has me. I sat back down for another stint of quiet reflection.

-Tightrope Mama

[image: Speed by Yael Frankel]