Night night, Kate.

A letter to my daughter about her bedtime routine.

Dear Kate, 

Putting you to bed is just one part of our daily routine. People tell me I won’t remember these little details and moments. I tell them that can’t be true. But then I think back to few months ago, and I can’t remember the routines or rhythms we were in. 

So, maybe they were right. 

Maybe I won’t remember.

But maybe I will because I'm writing it down.

Love,

Your mom.
____ 

You start to whine and point up the stairs, ‘nigh-nigh’ you say between tiny lips. 

I take your cue and we go upstairs and open the dresser where your jammies live. Without prompting, you obediently lay on the floor so I can change your diaper. You pat your belly indicating where your jammies should go, as a wide smile covers your face. There is always a smile.  

You waddle to the bathroom and climb up on the stool, rubbing your hand back and forth over your teeth, begging for your toothbrush. You brush and brush and brush, just like your big sister who stands next to you in her underwear. I tell you we’re all done. You turn away until I have to pry the skinny blue brush out of your strong grasp. You cry. 

I ask if you are ready to read books, and you quickly forget about the toothbrush and head to your room where you plop down next to the wooden bookshelf and begin to page through your collection. We snuggle into the rocking chair where we read Fox’s Socks, Llama Llama Red Pajama and Daniel Tiger- in that order. When we turn to the last page of Llama Llama, you lean forward and kiss the sleeping llama. 

I turn the light out and you whine again. I begin to rock you in the chair and you sit straight and say, “Baa Baa, Baa Baa,” wanting me to sing Baa Baa Black Sheep. I begin to sing and you rest your head on me. After the first four words you pop up, and yell “Baby, Baby, Baby,” and I transition to Rock-a-Bye-Baby. 

You are content for a moment until you sit up again and move your arms in circles. I begin to sing, “the wheels on the bus go round and…”

I can’t complete the full line because you demand the crying baby verse, and then the shushing mama verse, and then I find myself on edge waiting for the next demand until I realize the ridiculousness of these requests and being your personal DJ. 

“No more, all done, it’s time to sleep now, Kate.”

You nuzzle your head into my stomach, stretching your arm around to your own back yelling, ‘pat pat pat,’ so I pat your back until you start squirming and I can no longer hold you. I pick you up and walk across the room to your crib, where your baby doll is waiting. 

You turn the baby on its belly and pat her back. I tell you to lay down next to her, and when you continue to pat the baby while sitting up in your crib, I kiss your forehead, tell you I love you, and leave the room. 

Before the door is closed, you’re sobbing my name, ‘mama, mama, mama,’ your voice echoing through the monitor. You plop your body down on the mattress for a moment before sitting back up and patting your baby. I watch you do this on repeat with a relentless wail. 

I wait five minutes and debate if I should let you cry longer. I tell myself I’ll try that tomorrow because I can’t stand to hear you crying. 

I go back into your room, and you snuggle your baby underneath your arms and lay on your belly, “pat, pat,” you say. I rub your back, “It’s night time, Kate. Everyone is sleeping. Mama’s going night-night, Daddy’s going night-night, Aunt Laura’s going night-night, Ms. Morgan’s going night-night.” Your eyelids get heavy as we detail out our extended family, your classmates, the neighbors, until, again, I realize how ridiculous this is and stop to say, “shh, everyone’s going night-night.” 

I lean over the crib and kiss your forehead, turn and leave the room. 

I cross the hall, pick up the monitor and watch you make your final squirms before you drift off to sleep.

---

Thank you

Brooke Smith

for always answering late night editing emails.