Lately, bedtime has not been the simple Hungry Caterpillar/rock/nurse/sleep proposition that it once was. I suspect the upset in LO's routine over the past few weeks has added to his unwillingness to go to bed at the appointed hour, as has the fact that molars are evil. But last night, J and I traded off a couple of times in the 1.5 hour battle of LO vs. the Sandman. The Sandman always wins, but it was a mighty and pitched fight.
Sometimes, I will rock and nurse the child while also indulging in some light reading. I feel that it gives LO a good example of how to spend one's time and it sure beats staring at the wall wondering if you can actually hear the house breathing. Last night, the book of choice was a beloved Barbara Michaels paranormal thriller which I have read several times. LO seemed to enjoy the portions I read aloud to him, and it was the one book of the six I'm currently reading (and no, I'm not proud of that) that I could easily find and hold one-handed while cradling the little boy, who will doubtless start reading mysteries any day now after having gotten a taste of "the reigning queen of romantic suspense."
Unfortunately, I left the book on the floor by the rocking chair when I traded off bedtime duties part way through. ("Here! You make him sleep!") After J had successfully gotten the child asleep and ensconced in his crib, I realized that I had left my book in LO's room. Now, I did have five other potential books to read, but I wanted that one.
"Do you think I could sneak into his room and get my book?" I asked J.
"Maybe," he said. We tend to have overblown opinions of how lightly the child sleeps. Despite the fact that LO has napped mere feet from Indycars vrooming by at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, we both seem to believe that if we want to wind down in our house, the slightest housefly fart will waken him. Because we've been burned before.
"But," J added, "if you break it, you buy it."
Feeling a little like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, minus the crazy eyes, I snuck into the nursery, felt around on the floor for my book, and managed to get out again without incident.
Which was good, because my sleep-patience bank account was dangerously low. I don't think I could have afforded another bedtime routine last night.