7:00pm–Bedtime epic begins. Bath. Jammies. Brush teeth.
7:25pm–brush Ella’s hair while Henry reads to her.
7:40pm–Ella reads to me. It goes something like this:
She follows the words with her precious little finger.
Gagomadaloka. Hokaladeeahmalaga. Damahgo.
“Ella, you’re fantastic.”
“Yes I am.”
“I love your reading, Ella.”
“Alakadogatolo. The end!”
Make Way for Ducklings never sounded so lovely, if you ask me.
7:50–bedtime. Let the fun begin. (That was sarcasm)
Snuggle. Kiss. Hug. Tuck Ella in. Tuck jellycat in. Remind her that she is to stay in bed. Remind her again. Night-night.
8:00–Leave her room.
8:00:30-“Ella, get back in bed.”
8:01-“Ella, get back in bed.”
8:05–“Ella, get back in bed.”
8:10–“Ella, get back in bed.”
8:20–The pitiful crying begins. I say goodnight to Kate, a bit prematurely, to go fix Ella.
8:22–Leave Ella’s room. Kate is now crying. I am apparently still learning how to perform bedtime in an appropriate manner and time frame, even though I’ve been doing it for nearly 10 years.
8:30–“Ella, get back in bed.”
8:45–“Ella, get back in bed.” (Just fyi, this went on well past 10:00pm the night before, when I gave up and went to bed. I have no idea when she went to sleep.)
9:00–I can hear her in her room, talking to her lovies. I wish I could hug her. I briefly ponder my sanity.
9:12–The sound of quiet. Unfortunately at this point, being awake is not pleasurable anymore if you are me.
I climb into bed. I hope she wakes in the middle of the night. Because then she will come to my side of the bed, jellycat under her arm, and I will wrap my arms around her, and pull her up into the bed between me and The Man, and be happy that she is next to me. That I have her. And I will fall asleep with her little hand wrapped around my finger and her hair tickling my face and her little two-year-old feet resting on my knees.
Moments like these? They make bedtime nearly tolerable.