I just got kicked out.
"Can daddy come read bedtime books with us?" No. "You don't want daddy to say goodnight?" No.
I asked for a hug and got a finger pointed towards the door. At least it wasn't the finger. Apparently what I am good for is rounding up from the living room the cars that he lines up along the wall in his bed. He was willing to allow me that honor of being his toy servant.
It wasn't always this way. My son and his mom didn't always have their secret ritual that I've only witnessed by sound from the other room. There is a formula. Every night. She can fill you in on all the details. They review numbers, colors, opposites from one book then read a couple other favorites. They frequently sing...usually with Cole's name or family members inserted into the song at appropriate times. Then there is the Putting On Of Blankets where Cole lays on the pillow and is covered by a magic series of sheet-Pooh-Thomas-lions-elephants. Lately, then you turn on BOTH the rhythm giraffe and some Elvis.
Go figure. Perhaps I should feel lucky from being spared this somewhat testy time of whining.
When he was little--before the big boy bed and back to the days when he would fall asleep laying on me in the chair watching tv--he wanted nothing to do with mama at bedtime and would only accept me as the authentic goodnight. Kelly used to get a little jealous...my how times change.
I've still got my little one. Thankfully. Although lately Leda has been leaning on her mom for going to sleep. It's become less and less about my ability to hold her at the correct angle and know the right time to pick her up and lay her in her crib. She falls asleep in there on her own now sometimes. And her blankie is becoming more useful for comfort than a daddy.
At least she still turns to me and wants me to pick her up when she's upset...I have a feeling those days are numbered, too.
"Can daddy come read bedtime books with us?" No. "You don't want daddy to say goodnight?" No.
I asked for a hug and got a finger pointed towards the door. At least it wasn't the finger. Apparently what I am good for is rounding up from the living room the cars that he lines up along the wall in his bed. He was willing to allow me that honor of being his toy servant.
It wasn't always this way. My son and his mom didn't always have their secret ritual that I've only witnessed by sound from the other room. There is a formula. Every night. She can fill you in on all the details. They review numbers, colors, opposites from one book then read a couple other favorites. They frequently sing...usually with Cole's name or family members inserted into the song at appropriate times. Then there is the Putting On Of Blankets where Cole lays on the pillow and is covered by a magic series of sheet-Pooh-Thomas-lions-elephants. Lately, then you turn on BOTH the rhythm giraffe and some Elvis.
Go figure. Perhaps I should feel lucky from being spared this somewhat testy time of whining.
When he was little--before the big boy bed and back to the days when he would fall asleep laying on me in the chair watching tv--he wanted nothing to do with mama at bedtime and would only accept me as the authentic goodnight. Kelly used to get a little jealous...my how times change.
I've still got my little one. Thankfully. Although lately Leda has been leaning on her mom for going to sleep. It's become less and less about my ability to hold her at the correct angle and know the right time to pick her up and lay her in her crib. She falls asleep in there on her own now sometimes. And her blankie is becoming more useful for comfort than a daddy.
At least she still turns to me and wants me to pick her up when she's upset...I have a feeling those days are numbered, too.