Dear Reese,
We go to Mariner Road this evening to see the windows they installed in our home today. I think they look really sharp. You have Cappi carry you around for the tour.
We walk down the path to the water in time to see the sunset. It’s a beautiful one tonight — all orange and pink. You pick up the small broom by the kayak paddles and play with it until you lead us back up the path.
You’re having a hard time with sleep right now. You woke up at 3:30 am this morning, and I slept beside you in the guest bed for a couple of hours. Or tried to sleep. It was probably a mistake because going to bed tonight, I think you want to do that again, sleep by my side instead of going down in your crib.
Actually, what happens is that I tell you that you can’t have your binkies until it’s time for bed, and then you, with such purpose, rush through your bedtime routine. A bath that takes two minutes before you’re standing up and saying all done. Skipping books. Signing that you want to go to sleep until I put you down twenty minutes early.
All is well until ten minutes later, when you realize maybe you weren’t as tired as you thought. We try again. Then we try to get up and read a book, and get some milk after all. Then you sign that you do want to sleep, but get angry when I put you in your crib instead of cuddling on the bed together.
Eventually, I lie down on the floor and sing lullabies while you cry until we both get quiet. The constellations are still on your ceiling. A while later, I sneak out of the room, praying that Arthur isn’t waiting in the hall to scream at the top of his little cat lungs for treats for the third time tonight.
Forty minutes later, while writing this, I hear you cry again — but just for a minute — you seem to have gone back to sleep. Is this teething? Separation anxiety? Will I regret not cuddling with you all night someday?
Love,
Mama