Goodnight My Someone

My daughter has a typical bedtime routine that is totally absent of breastfeeding, rocking, lulling, patting, crying (mine, that is), and pleading. Now had you told me this little anecdote almost four years ago, I would have laughed at you.

Or cursed you, depending the on the night.

She was a beast of a sleeper, requiring some type of parental intervention involving an "ing" at way too many times during the night.

But now that we simply brush her teeth, read her a story, and turn off the lights, it's hard to remember how much work we used to put in just to get her to close her tiny little eyes and keep them closed for those precious dark hours. I've since pushed aside the difficult memories of her first year, mainly as a means to protect the little glimmers of sanity I have left.

Tonight she asked me to rub her back and sing her lullabies. She's laid claim to the five or so songs that were in regular rotation in mommy's live and in-person cd player. And so, out of respect for her request, I don't sing those songs to Drew. And since she doesn't need them anymore, I haven't sung them in a very long time.

As I softly scratched out a few notes as she lay quietly on her very big girl pillow in her very big girl bed and the memories flushed through me, I choked up a bit.

It wasn't a new feeling -- to be stifled by my own salty mix of frustrated sobs while singing those songs, standing painfully alone in the dark in a trance of sleeplessness and helplessness. But this time, the tears came with a smile, as I remembered the beauty of our nightly rendevous. Once tarnished by pain and frustration, the truly sweet moments I endured every single night with her for over two years were returned to me fully shined.

Almost brand new.

And for the first time, when I sang those words, my only memory was of that precious baby girl, my best girl, falling slowly to sleep in the crook of my tired left arm, her fuzzy head and compact body heavy as she drifted off into dreamland.

My memory reclaimed. My memory, as it should be.

Comments

[LiteralDan]

I can only hope time will be so kind to our memories of my daughter, a recovering horrible sleeper.

I'm so happy she now sleeps on her own and for a reasonable amount of time.

[Manic Mommy]

In those wee hours, I sang 'Thunder Road' and 'Leavin' On a Jet Plane' over and over.

And I remember those no-so-long-ago days fondly. Memory is kind.

[motherofbun]

All... What a sweet post. You got me all misty-eyed over here.

[Stephanie]

Beautifully written and so nostalgic. It's also very encouraging, especially since my daughter's bedtime consists of several of the "ings" at the moment. :)

P.S. I linked to this post on my "Tuesday Tours" column. I wanted other moms to read it.

[Lawyer Mama]

Oh, Kristin. Beautiful.

[mo-wo]

Memory. What a racket.

[Jessica (aka Rose)]

Oh thank you for sharing that. My baby is 8 months old and still doesn't fall asleep on her own or sleep for more than 5 hours in a row at night (and that's just the first five hours, after that she's up every two or three hours). Thank you for giving me hope that I'm not doomed to nurse her to sleep until she leaves for college.

[ame s]

Oh, so sweet!
The same child that took so long to wind down and get to sleep said to me recently during what I thought was a deep, meaningful bedtime conversation: "You can go now, Mama. I'm ready for sleepin." Dang!

[amanda]

The best indeed.

[caramama]

That is beautiful. I'm so happy to hear that these memories will lose the frustration and become sweet.

I recently said to my husband that some day our little one will kiss us good night and go to sleep herself. He said he just couldn't believe it would happen. ;-)

[Casie]

*sob*

[Oh, The Joys]

I love this one, K.

[radiomom]

So sweet to hear...my oldest, now 6-also a bear to get to sleep when young...now getting in his jammies alone and wanting a kiss on the CHEEK mostly.

[Jennifer H]

Beautiful. The other night, my kids asked me to sing to them, which is rare. But they wanted me to sing "You Are My Sunshine," which I sang to both of them when they were small. I got a little choked up, too.

[mothergoosemouse]

So wonderful to look back on those nights fondly - more than five years after the fact.

[b]

I had no idea the joy that would come of those awful nights. Thanks for reminding me.

[Heather]

You know, it's hard to type through tears!

[the new girl]

Oh good.

There's hope.

[Vivacious G]

Aw, I miss that.

[amanda]

simply beautiful.

[MommyTime]

Isn't it funny how those moments that can sometimes seem like torture turn into fond memories of closeness? I have similar memories of lying in my son's bed night after night hoping he would fall asleep. Here's hoping the next one lets you sleep easier AND adds to the lovely memories.

[Chicky Chicky Baby]

Aaaand... Now I'm crying too.

[Lexa]

Oh, and we are moving to Alabama from Chicago in July-- interested to hear more about your perspective on the south!

[Lexa]

Just discovered your blog-- I appreciate how open and honest you are about the ambivalence of motherhood. I often feel like I am the only one with mixed feelings and raging hormones. Thanks for the nice story.

[Woman with Kids]

What a sweet memory... Sometimes I just want to grab the boys and make them babies again. Of course, other times I'm counting the days until they go to college.

[Amy]

A very sweet experience to share, thank you for that.

[Lady M]

Beautiful, Kristen. You made my cry and smile all at once.

I'm well into my ninth month and setting up the nursery, remembering what it was like to rock my first baby to sleep, awaiting the second.

[H.E.Eigler]

Oh this post made me teary! Little H used to only fall asleep on my chest. During those times the only thing I wished for was for her to fall asleep in her crib. Now I miss those days. As the old saying goes, be careful what you wish for. They grow up so fast!

[samsmommy]

Beautifully said. Do you follow Ethan Powell's story? It really puts things in perspective, too.