Just about every night we have a minor battle with Ethan. It’s an age-old battle, one every parent will recognize – the battle wherein the child (that’s Ethan) works on the last nerve of the adult (that’s me, though some may disagree) by finding every excuse in the book to get out of bed after being put there. They must do this, you see, lest they miss anything important.
To be perfectly honest, Ethan is actually not bad about this – he typically finds only one or two reasons to creep back into the action before giving up. I think this is largely due to his utter exhaustion at the end of the day. He gave up naps last fall. Good times.
The other night, 2 minutes after the end of our bedtime ritual, I heard his tentative, “Mom?”
“For crying out loud,” I snapped, having reached the end of my rope. “WHAT is it NOW, Ethan?”
“Um, Mom?” he began, “I was just thinking about all the things I missed when I was in your tummy.”
The aggravation lifted just like that.
I gave him a big hug, tucked him back in bed, reassured him that he shouldn’t worry – we have a lot of memories left to be made.