“Goodnight. I love you, Bubby,” I whisper, as I backwards crawl out of my son’s new tent. It was a gift he received from Santa, although Santa probably would have rethought this gift if he knew Harrison was going to insist on sleeping in it. Santa really assumed that it would just be for play time. Santa has a lot to learn, apparently.
As I turned out the light and left the room, I smiled to myself and wondered how long this phase would last. How many nights would he need to sleep in his new tent? How many “non naps” would he have in there (because we all know he’s not doing much sleeping under that canvas cover)?
Not that I’m an expert AT ALL in this parenting thing, but after two babies, and some good time spent in toddlerism, I know that everything is a phase. Some are good, some are bad. Some we hope to last forever, like the arms-around-the-neck hugs and kisses and the random outbursts of “Mama, I love you!” Then there are the ones we wish will pass faster than Chinese food indigestion, like the colicky crying that we have thankfully surpassed, and potty training (one down, one to go).
I made it down the stairs, poured myself a glass of wine, and sat on one of our bar stools to do some online research, when a little voice from the landing called, “Mommy! I want to sleep in my bed now!” I have to admit, I rolled my eyes. Looking over at my husband, playing completely aloof at the whole scenario, I knew this was my gig. Off I went back upstairs to relocate my little guy. Naturally, giggles, snuggles, and small talk ensued while I was up there, but to be honest, I didn’t mind. Because this is a phase.
A phase that lasted exactly two nights and 28 minutes.
I’ll be keeping in mind as we enter the new year that all things are phases with children. Some I will embrace, and some I will breathe deeply to survive.