Club Brigid

Last night, Brigid wanted to do her bedtime book reading while sprawled across my lap, using my stomach as a pillow and my legs (which were propped up on an ottoman in front of her rocker) as a bed. It was...about as uncomfortable as you'd imagine, I think.

So, after spending all of storytime trying to maneuver the kid into a position that made us both happy, I finally gave up any hope of a pre-bedtime cuddle (which is the best part of the day, honestly, and something I was less than thrilled to lose) and asked her if she was ready to get into her crib.

She was.

She was so ready, in fact, that she practically launched herself off of my lap, toward the general direction of her bed, because she was done with me. No more rocking, no more singing, no more hugs or kisses. Done. PUT ME DOWN, WOMAN!

She knows how to stroke the parental ego, you know?

Once I put Brigid down in her crib, she always gets one more song sung to her, complete with a backrub (which she will demand, loudly, if I try to shirk my duties), followed by a wind-up of her Winnie the Pooh music box and a final good night pat from me. Most of the time, I get something in return, but whether it's a night-night, a 'leave me alone already' wave, or a shriek of serious anger that I would dare make her sleep on that particular night...well, that's just a crapshoot.

And, as it turns out, sometimes it's none of the above. Sometimes,* as I'm leaving the room, I will hear a giggle, and I will turn around to find Brigid holding up Pooh in one hand, Tigger in the other, shaking them like there's no tomorrow and rocking out to the sweet sounds of a music box. And I will laugh at her, tell her she's the biggest goofball I've ever seen, and watch her grin as she snuggles in with both of them wrapped up in her arms for the night.

And then I will have to fight every urge in my body that wants to go grab her out of her crib and make her snuggle with me for the next twenty minutes because, as common sense would tell you, when the toddler is ready for bed, you let her go to bed. But man...

It's hard to leave her when she's that cute.

(Of course, when it's the shriek of anger I get, I just duck my head and run out fo the room as quickly as I can, because that's not nearly as cute...)


*By sometimes, of course, I mean just this one time, last night. Most likely never to be repeated, again, I'm sure. But 'sometimes' just sounded better there. Creative license...