In my daily routine, my 2-year-old son necessitates that I spend a significant portion of his nap time lying next to him. While he doesn’t explicitly demand it, it has become a norm, and should I not join him, his nap will be shorter, resulting in a cranky disposition. So, as he stirs, I make my way to him. I often find myself scrolling through social media, jotting down thoughts in my notes app, or simply closing my eyes for a brief respite.
Having been a parent for over eight years now, I’ve largely stopped overanalyzing my parenting decisions as I once did when my first child was an infant. My approach leans towards a more attachment-based style, but it feels so ingrained in my life that it hardly warrants examination. It works for us, and honestly, I’m often too fatigued to scrutinize it further.
Today, it struck me that many parents may not have the luxury—or the choice—to spend a long stretch of nap time beside their children. Some might be working, while others may have older siblings to care for during that time. Many children rely on comfort items like teddy bears or blankets, and some simply require less help in settling down than my son does. I completely understand that every family has their own rhythm that suits them.
Recently, my older son had Pajama Day at school, where he was asked to wear his pajamas and bring a favorite stuffed animal. Like his younger brother, he never really attached to a specific comfort item.
With a chuckle, he remarked, “I guess I’d have to bring you to school that day, Mom.” Though he has outgrown sleeping in our bed, we still share precious moments each night as he drifts off to sleep, with either my husband or myself keeping him company until he’s fully asleep.
My younger son, however, continues to need me significantly. He seeks my presence during naps and throughout the night. I realize that this level of dependence isn’t what every family experiences. I often forget how unusual this might seem to others, having normalized it myself over the years.
Why do I continue this approach? Primarily, it began out of a desire for ease; responding to my babies’ cries felt much simpler than trying to devise alternative methods of comfort. It was instinctive, and I’ve become adept at tuning out external opinions to follow what feels right for my family.
Yet, there’s something deeper at play. I am clinging to these fleeting moments of childhood by holding onto them physically. I know this phase won’t last forever; independence will naturally follow, and time accelerates whether we wish it or not. My 8-year-old is already pulling away, and I often find myself with mere seconds of cuddling before he retreats to his room, shutting the door behind him.
My 2-year-old, however, still welcomes my embrace. He nestles into me, his hair still faintly carrying the scent of babyhood. I find it difficult to rush through this time. The thought of it ending stings deeply. I know it’s inevitable.
So, even amidst my occasional frustration when my personal time is interrupted, or when I feel overwhelmed by constant physical contact, I choose to go to him. I lie there in the darkness—mostly waiting, sometimes resting, often zoning out on my phone.
In those moments, I am capturing time, holding onto what remains of his childhood.
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Summary
This article reflects on the emotional bond formed during parenting, specifically how the author cherishes the time spent with her children as they grow and become more independent. It highlights the unique experiences of different families and the importance of finding what works for each individual situation.
Keyphrase: Parenting and Childhood Connection
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