A Bedtime Story

My daughter hooked her arm securely around mine as I held her at my hip–a cripplingly cute mannerism of hers that melts me to my core every single time.

Vocalizing airplane sound effects, I made an extravagant production of swooping my giggling passenger down to the floor to pick up each member of the Hundred Acre Wood institutionalized as her Bedtime Crew, currently featuring Piglet (her go-to daytime stuffty) as well as Winnie the Pooh and Tigger (the night-shift support staff who allow for optimal snugglization).

Piglet, Pooh, and Tigger - My Daughter's Bedtime Crew

Her teeth brushed and hands washed, she knew we were coming up on bedtime and began her nightly wind-down ritual: gripping Piglet and Company, sticking her beloved right thumb in her mouth, and embracing day’s end with open arms and heavy eyelids.

Our son, however–currently in his mother’s arms–was performing his own nightly routine: maniacal arm-flails punctuated by Oscar-worthy whines. Never ready to pack it in, he’ll dash for the playroom or point at the turned-off tv in a last-ditch effort to stay up just a little longer, to milk as much out of the day as possible. There are still so many blocks to stack, so many books to read, so many Sing-Along Songs to groove to.

And while his unrelenting desire to be awake can be burdensome, I don’t ever fault him for it.

He gets it from me.

I leaned towards my wife to kiss my son’s pouting lips goodnight, followed by my wife maneuvering her face through the bouquet of Pooh-Corner-plush to kiss my daughter, and we each brought the Twins into their respective bedrooms.

My daughter snuggled close, resting her forehead on my shoulder, the gentle sound of thumbsucking emanating from below it.

I smiled.

Bedtime is my daily reminder that I am, in fact, cut out for this whole parenting thing, because no matter how many times during the day the Twins have thrown inconsolable tantrums, punched me in the balls to get my attention, or kicked their own poo at me in a diaper change gone awry, I still don’t want to part with them for the night. Even though I’m fortunate enough to spend more time with them than anyone else, I still can’t get enough of them.

And as I looked down at my daughter’s warm little head buried in my chest, imagining how rawly and purely comfortable it must be, I felt sad having to end that moment.

I could hold her like that forever.

But as we all know, that’s not how it works.

Because bedtime also reminds me that another day has passed–another notch on my life and theirs, each one hurling them further and further away from the tiny new beings I marveled at the day they were born, away from faces that light up when they see Daddy at their cribs every morning.

Call me obsessive, but I can’t help being acutely aware of life’s brevity. At the risk of sounding trite, I really take to heart the notion that every day is an opportunity we can either balk at or take advantage of, and becoming a parent and seeing how quickly the Twins have grown already has only amplified this.

People think I’m nuts for attempting all I do in a given day, sprinting from Elmo board books to annotated bibliographies, from Sippy Cups to Skype meetings, from Legos to laundry to dishwashing to date night and back again.

I’ll admit I can’t always chew everything I bite off, but as advised by countless coaches from my legen–wait for it–dary Pop Warner football career, I “leave everything on the field” every day doing things I’m passionate about, and the feeling I have come bedtime is more satisfying than any I’ve ever experienced.

Which is the very same attitude I’m starting to see in my son as he completely throws himself into learning, playing, living. One of his favorite words is “muh” (toddler for “more”), and I hear it rapid-fire all day: one more Lego tower, one more lap around the living room, one more game of Tell Me Stuff To Point At In My Favorite Word Book.

“Muh, Dad! Muh!”

My son, the Legomaniac

A chip off the old block…on the blocks.

I’ll often go to to the kitchen to get him “muh” water in the middle of an intense playing session and return to find him snoring on the playroom floor, Magna Doodle still in hand.

That is, until my scheming daughter yanks it out and runs off with it, giggling mischievously.

. . .

My daughter shuffled in my arms, pulling me out of my head and back to her.

I gave her one last squeeze, saying, “I love you, Baby Girl. Ni-night,” as I eased her into her crib. She sprawled out, shuffled her stuffties, and settled.

I turned to leave, but not a moment later, I heard her adorable little pixie voice dreamily repeat, for the first time ever, “Ni-night…”

I stopped dead, suddenly and completely awash in the mind-numbing cuteness I’d just witnessed.

To make sure I wasn’t just hearing things, I tried again. “Ni-night, baby.”

A soft sigh broke the silence, followed by another airy “Ni-night…”

Forcing myself not to giggle, I tiptoed to the door and called my wife in, whispering, “Tell her, ‘Ni-night.'”

She did, and again, our little echo complied. “Ni-night…”

. . .

After wrangling the Twins all day, I could easily hand putting them to bed over to my wife, who I’m sure would have no problem with it, having missed them at work all day, but if I’d done that this particular night, I would have missed one of the cutest things my daughter has ever done.

And this is why, for as long and as often as I am able to, I will be there at bedtime, because before I know it, “ni-night” will be “good night” and eventually “I’m moving out.”

I can’t stop it from happening, but at least I can enjoy it, one day at a time.

.

Twinfamy’s 100th Twincident Super Duper Celebration Extravaganza!

A 500-Disc DVD Special Edition Bonus Feature

So this is my 100th post.

I realize I’ve done this for over a year now and that many bloggers achieve triple digits quicker than I have, but considering my family and scholastic commitments, the high (slightly perfectionist) standards with which I attempt to craft each installment, and the fact that for years before this I put virtually nothing creative out into the world, to me this is a real personal victory and a milestone truly worth celebrating.

Thanks to all of you for reading, sharing, commenting, and awesoming. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again–without your encouragement, I never would have made it this far, and for that I’m incredibly grateful.

I’d buy you all a round of beers, but can barely afford my own since we’re a one-income household now, so if you could just pretend the next one you drink is from me, we should be square.

Thanks again, and until next time, ni-night.

.

You may also enjoy:

I Can't Hear Myself Think   A Little Muh   Did It

If not, I take back my ni-night.

And that imaginary beer, too.

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16 comments

  1. Deborah the Closet Monster

    I usually conclude your posts with a giggle, so it’s both weird and welcome to conclude this one with a sniffle and an, “Oh, yes.” Some months back, I found myself thinking, “Thank goodness this day is over!” No sooner had I thought it than I realized that I really would never get another chance at it again. The good was locked in. The bad was locked in. It was gone. That moment’s awareness inspired me to try noticing the little moments I don’t want to go quickly, and to savor them no matter how many other moments bowl me over during the day. I thank you for this beautiful reminder . . . and insight into how it falls where you guys are at.

    Like

    • John Pseudonymous

      Thanks so much, Deb. :D That means a lot coming from you.

      Yeah, it occurred to me that I left a lot of the usual “funny” out of this one, but it felt like the only way to go.

      Glad to hear I’m not the only one who feels this way. I think we often look forward to things and say “I can’t wait for this to be over,” but if you do that you’re not fully committing to the “now”–in my opinion it’s like wasting the “now.” I feel like if I can go into “bedtime” and honestly say I did my best with every moment of what the day threw at me, it was a good day. If not, I’ll try again tomorrow.

      People have told me my intensity about this sounds exhausting, and it is some days, but I’d rather be exhausted than feel like I could have done or been better.

      Like

  2. matttbaines

    Brilliant as usual. My daughter is not so good with the sleeping but almost every night either my wife or I will pop into her room and think about waking her up just to spend more time with her.
    That ni-night must have been pretty special.

    Like

    • John Pseudonymous

      Thanks so much, Matt. Yeah, it was really special. My daughter is actually less talkative than my son. She understands and speaks up when she really feels like it, but she gets this little smile as if he gets a kick out withholding it. So it was really cute to see her with her guard down as she drifted off to sleep. Good stuff.

      I know the feeling about peeking in while they’re sleeping and wanting to get them, though. Gotta resist. I learned early on that waking the Twins up before they’re ready is a VERY bad idea.

      Like

  3. Daddy's in Charge?

    I do miss those days of the little innocent kids. They are slowly disappearing. Those firsts are awesome, my kids are starting to get a lot of lasts lately and it’s driving me bonkers. It does go from ni night to nothing pretty quick. Savor it!

    Like

    • John Pseudonymous

      Thanks, John. I know this time will pass quickly, but if I have the good memories to hold onto, I think I can be okay with that.

      You still have plenty of firsts ahead, though, too, which I’m sure will be special in different ways.

      Like

  4. Brad Marmo (@readbradthedad)

    Great post. I really enjoy your writing and your passion for your kids. Awesome transition from reflecting on life’s challenges and how your son tackles them in the same way to being “re-awakened” into the present by your daughter shuffling in your arms. Very well done.

    Congrats on the 100th post and keep it (all) up.

    Like

    • John Pseudonymous

      Thanks so much, Brad. I was particularly happy with that transition myself.

      I wouldn’t keep it (all) up unless it wasn’t worth it.

      I also am aware that’s a double negative but it’s close to bedtime for me so I’m going to just go with it. ;)

      Like

  5. EduDad

    Beautiful. I hate missing bedtime for that exact reason. Kids at this age truly change daily. Cherish it. Your kids are lucky to have a dedicated and passionate dad like you.

    Congrats on 100 posts. On a side note, I have the One Day at a Time theme song running through my head.

    Like

    • John Pseudonymous

      So true. They totally change daily. I swear some days they grow an inch overnight. Right now they’re at this incredible age (18 months) when they seem to be doing like 10 new things each a day–new words and phrases, motor skills, ninja star throwing proficiency…It’s like I don’t want to blink or else I might miss something.

      Thanks so much on the 100-ness, but not for putting the One Day at a Time song in my head, too. ;)

      Like

  6. Sincerely, Your Front Desk Girl

    Great blog! I’m captivated! I’m a twin AND a daddy’s girl.

    Now he and I sit in my parents’ kitchen and have beers on Friday nights after work end for the both of us.. he tells the same stories over and over again about me as a child( to my boyfriend), which I love, even though they may be embarrassing, because he talks about my sister and I in such a sweet, nostalgic way.

    Like

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