It's evening and it is bedtime. I take my little man upstairs and turn off the light. He nurses. It's more for comfort than nutrition these days. I watch his little limbs grow still and his eyelids get heavy. Then, at some unspoken moment, he starts to squirm. I lift him up and he snuggles into my shoulder. Many nights he's still sweet-smelling and damp from his bath. He squirms just a bit higher, so his head is tucked into the hollow of my neck. He's limp, like a sack of flour. He doesn't sleep, though his breathing grows deep and regular. We just sit in the dark and rock. Every once in a while, a sigh escapes his lips. He turns his head. And we rock. After a while, I stand and carry him to his crib. He is all but asleep now. I put him down, and he briefly opens his eyes while I stroke his cheek and whisper "I love you." Then I quietly leave the room and he sleeps.
Most nights, this is not the end. My big guy is still being tucked into bed. I go into his room for my goodnight hug and kiss. Then, I pretend to sleep on his sturdy chest. He starts to giggle and I request that my "bed" quiet down. Then the giggles turn to squirming. I lift my head and mush my "bed", imploring it to stop moving. I can't sleep on a squirming bed of course. More giggles. More squirming. I have to tickle my "bed" to get finally get some sleep. Then, I get to leave. I leave my amped-up boy to his daddy to calm.
It's my favorite time of day.
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