Like a Little Baby

 

 

Despite his squishy build, Charlie has never been much of a snuggler.  He had colic for several months as an infant, due to lactose sensitivity, but even as he outgrew that, he was always quite fidgety when he was tired.  We rock him before bed, but most nights he squirms around until he more or less sits on your lap, gesturing with a flailing arm towards his crib, as if to say, "just put me in my crib already, I'm freaking tired!"  (Likely an attitude he picked up from his mother.)  The nights when he does snuggle into us are made that much more precious.

We had one of those on Monday night.   He surrendered to my arms, warming up after a bath.  I hummed "Ode to Joy,"which was the only thing that came to mind.  Why is it that I have a million ideas of what I'd like to sing sweetly to my children during the day, but when the sun goes down my musical mind goes pianissimo?  In retrospect, the moment we had deserved an ode to joy, for that's exactly what it was.  Hearing my voice, he raised his head, looked into my eyes, gave me a serene smile, and lay his head back down in cozy happiness.

But most nights, it's the restless flailing. Oliver is a little hit or miss at bedtime these days as well, alternating between perfect sweetness, jumping-on-the-bed-giggle-fits, outright 3-year-old tantruming, and pity parties.  Tonight it was the latter.   He frowned his most dramatic frown, pouted his saddest pout. 

"I'm tiiiiiiii-yerrred," he whined softly, but made no effort towards the stairs. 

 "Hey, I know," I suggested.  "Maybe you can ask Daddy if he can carry you upstairs!"

Oliver thought about this for a bit, then slowly nodded, and said, "like a little baby."

Michael was more than happy to oblige.