By: Jana Greene
Bittersweet moment alert!
Tonight, I’m remembering the thousand of bedtimes when my daughters were little and I would lay down with them every evening holding each of their tiny hands until they fell asleep.
Some might say that was spoiling them.
There wasn’t a term for it back then – more than 20 years ago – but now I believe it is called “attachment parenting.” Every family is different, but i knew, in some deep, primal way, is that it was right for me and my girls. Co-sleeping. Extended breastfeeding, nursing on demand, and child-led weaning. No crying it out. Baby wearing.
And every night, the same playlist of lullabies by their tone-deaf Mom, including – always including – Sweet Baby James. I changed the lyrics about “glasses of beer” to”glasses of milk,” and nobody seems the wiser.
The funny thing I remember cognitive thought “memorize this, Mama.”
Memorize holding the tiny hand still a little sticky from where the baby wipe missed a spot of cotton candy.
Remember Lexi sleepily wriggling her lose front tooth between lullaby verses.
Stare into Ashleigh’s big, chocolate brown eyes as her eyelids drooped slowly little by little.
Indulge “sing it one more time, Mama,” even if it’s the tenth time in a row.
I intuitively knew these days were fleeting. I knew every bedtime took them a little farther from sticky hands and Sweet Baby James, and closer to the rest of the world they’d have to figure out for themselves.
The rest of the world I couldn’t make all better with a lullaby.
Until then, though, we had James Taylor and tons of cuddles.
And friends with littles, soak up every second.
It does fly by so fast.