It’s the summer before second grade, and my son, who is 7 ½, still needs me to lie beside him until he drifts off to sleep. I often describe him as a live wire—his mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, and his body follows suit. While he’s not the most cuddly child, he’s fine with hugs but doesn’t always reciprocate. He’s always been a tough nut to crack when it comes to sleep; it’s never been easy for him to unwind. He relies on my presence—always has, and still does.
Most nights, I’m the one who helps him fall asleep. Sure, sometimes his dad steps in, but I’m the preferred choice. Why? Maybe it’s because I’m his mom, or perhaps it’s the countless nights we’ve spent curled up together. Or maybe he’s just used to it. Regardless, I cherish those moments, even when they stretch late into the evening.
Once the lights go out, he begins to relax. Occasionally, he shares his worries with me—issues that have been gnawing at him for weeks—or he excitedly recounts the latest adventures in his favorite video games. Whatever he chooses to discuss feels significant to both of us.
This summer brought added anxiety with our move, and what used to be a 20-minute routine sometimes stretches far beyond that. He’ll choke out, “I can’t fall asleep,” and I reassured him, “You will. Your body needs rest, and it will come.” In the past, if bedtime dragged on, I might sneak out for a snack, leaving him with his dad. But these days, that plan has flopped.
One night, as we lingered in the dark, it became an unusually lengthy affair. I felt my patience waning. The clock ticked closer to 10 p.m., and I was exhausted. I began to resent being the only one who could soothe him to sleep, feeling like my parental duties were stretching far longer than my husband’s.
Finally, just as I thought I could escape, I heard a muffled sigh. I quietly slipped out, only to be met moments later by my son, his eyes squinting in the kitchen light. “I just really need you to stay,” he said, his voice breaking, tears welling up. In that instant, all my irritation transformed into a wave of regret. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I said, wrapping him tightly in my arms. I wasn’t certain if he sensed my frustration, but I felt a deep remorse.
It moved me profoundly to see how he could so clearly express his needs. Although he’s bright and articulate, like many kids—especially those who are more cerebral—it’s often a challenge for him to communicate in a straightforward, sincere manner.
Some might find our routine a bit unrealistic, and I don’t believe every parent must soothe their older children to sleep. However, it works for us, and I trust that he will eventually outgrow it. I hope that throughout the many hours I’ve spent with him—first cradling his tiny body, then holding him, and now simply being present and listening—I’ve instilled in him the importance of expressing his feelings and the assurance that there are safe spaces for sharing them.
For those navigating similar challenges or considering family planning, I recommend checking out resources like March of Dimes for pregnancy information, and if you’re interested in home insemination, you might find insights on cryobaby kits and fertility supplements helpful.
In summary, the bond we share during those quiet moments at bedtime is not just about sleep; it’s about connection, communication, and comfort. I wouldn’t trade those experiences for anything.
Keyphrase: bedtime bonding
Tags: [“home insemination kit”, “home insemination syringe”, “self insemination”]