Our Very Best Time

It had been a day for him. And so, for us, too. A day with far too little patience packed in. A day with far too many tears. And by dinner time, I wanted for it to be bedtime. But really, I wanted it to be that moment right after. The moment where, before I get to the dishes… the laundry… the date board… or otherwise, I sink into the couch. Close my eyelids for a second. Exhale. And feel the day melt away in one singular breath. That moment when they and we are separate… sometimes for the first time all day. But it wasn’t then yet. We still had an hour at least, until toys away. And then another twenty minutes for bath. And then. And then. I did the math briefly in my mind as I stared at the clock. Wanting to blink it forward, just a smidge. But keeping my eyes peeled, just the same.

Dinner was eventually complete. A bit of play commenced. And then, he was up the stairs into timeout. It had been his second of the day. In a time when he doesn’t have many. If any. And my patience wore thinly thin. It was too much. How can a three year old completely break me? I questioned for the hundredth time since the sun had risen. We need a break from one another, I thought. We need bedtime.

And sooner than soon, I suppose, it was time for the putting away of toys. And then, up the stairs we marched for baths and washing away the grime of the day. I wrapped him up in his towel. He laid his head in my lap. I rubbed his back. I ran my fingers through his hair. He let his eyelids cover his otherwise always wide eyes. And we both breathed. Slowly. And contentedly. That same breath that I’d envisioned having on the sofa. Alone. But he exhaled. I inhaled. We just sat. And caught our breath. Together. It was a good blip in our day. And it settled us each, just enough.

After a bit, he dressed for bed. Read his book. And then snuggled into his bunk. And following a bit of chatting and laying with his brother, I crawled in next to him. And it was the best moment I’d had all day. The room, dark. The boy, still. The words, calm. My mind, overflowing with clarity. I did not need a break from him. Sometimes I do. We all do. But it was not what I’d needed then. Not a break from him. I had needed a break from everything else to get him to just be him. A break from the toys, the noise, the boys, boys, boys. I needed to just be. With him. For a bit.

It was our best moment. And I was happy to end the day with it. Though I wished we’d had more, I was happy to have it as our closing call. And I found myself settling in. And wanting to stay for a little while. Maybe a long while. Because I was reminded, as I am nearly every single night, laying beside them when the world slows down and the day goes to sleep, when they’re content just to have your hand on theirs, that bedtime actually ends up being one of the best things in the day, one of the very best things about motherhood. About calling a child yours. That time when you get to lay into each other, and breathe the same space — that time can be the antidote to every undesirable part of parenting on days when you are in dire straits. 

We did need bedtime. But not to get away from one another. Not on this night, anyway. Instead, we were in desperate need of being drawn together. Of settling in. We were in desperate need of stillness in a moment. And it was our very best time, all day.