Mindful Parenting: Winding Down to Sleep
By Meghan McChesney Gilroy
- Sunday, August 23rd, 2009
It’s 9:37pm. I’m just now putting Bodhi down to bed. I want nothing more than to plop him in his crib, turn off the light, and say good night. Bodhi has a rather different plan.
He’s wound up from Jamie’s brother’s 60th birthday party/mini-family reunion. For the last 4 1/2 hours, he’s been running around with a gaggle of cousins and a few stray neighborhood kids. He’s clearly exhausted – as am I – and yet has no obvious intention of going to sleep anytime soon. He’s attempting every stall tactic in the book.
I feel my frustration rising. It’s several hours past his normal bedtime. And I still have to clean up from the party. A mere six months ago he was sound asleep by 6:30. Then it crept up to 7:30. Now we’ve entered the slippery slope of a summerhood schedule of late naps and late nights. I want to put the brakes on this trend – tonight is the all-time record. I’ve got to get him into bed now.
As I am trying to hustle, skip, and negiotate my way past the regular nighttime rituals, I catch myself. He’s just spent the last few hours in a pack of roving older kids, swirling among a large crowd of adults. Occasionally he checked in for a quick snuggle or a request for a drink, but it’s the first time at a party that he’s been old enough to hang with the big dogs. He had a taste (or two) of sugar, which he almost never has.
While I’d like nothing more than to speed up (ok ditch) the nightly ritual: reading, rocking, chatting about his day… into the crib, rubbing his back, singing, sitting by the bed – he needs even more time to wind down. Perhaps it’s not so different than myself as an adult. I might read a little more or watch a little extra TV to unwind for a particularly busy day. Yet when it comes to Bo being up late, I’m thinking “It’s late, we’re both tired, let’s skip the books. Hurry this up already!” Meanwhile, I can sense he’s feeling, “It’s late, I’m tired and wound up, let’s read a few more books. Slow down a bit!”
When I slow down to his pace, I see the consequence of allowing him to stay up late is that I need to let him stay up later and take more – not less – time to wind down. So I relax into his rhythm. We read another book. We rock a little longer. We process his day in greater detail as he sorts through the relationships among all his relatives. I rub his back more. I sit by his crib longer.
He’s finally settling down when he reaches his hand out through the bars of his crib. This isn’t part of our usual dance. His little hand grasps my finger. Of course my heart melts a little more. I close my eyes and rest, savoring the moment, feeling the connection between us. Silence falls around the edges of the room.
I’m about to sneak out to tackle the dishes when I hear his sleepy voice call out, “Mama?” “Yes, Bo,” I reply. “What are you doing?” he asks. “Sitting here, loving you,” I say. And with that he falls into a deep and peaceful sleep.
As I tiptoe down the stairs, I know that times like these – when I am present to his needs and his timeline, when I am willing to listen to his questions – are the basis for a life-long conversation and friendship. The investment I make today will pay off when I want him to talk with me as a teen. I vow to myself to remember that when he’s up late, make more time for preparing to bed.
When I walk into the kitchen, I smile. Jamie and Nick (our teenager) are joking around, just finishing up the dishes. Jamie asks, “Bo down?” I nod yes, “Finally.” I sigh. Now I too can go to sleep.
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