At two years old, my youngest son has a habit of needing me to lie beside him for a portion of his nap. It’s not a strict requirement, but it’s become our routine. If I don’t join him, he tends to wake up earlier, which leads to a cranky little boy. So, when he stirs, I’m right there. I often scroll through social media, occasionally jot down some thoughts (thank goodness for the Notes app on my phone), and sometimes even close my eyes for a moment.
After eight years of parenting, I’ve settled into a groove where I don’t overthink my choices as much as I did when my first child was born. My approach leans toward gentle, attachment parenting, but it’s all just part of life for me now—no deep analysis required. If it works, great; if it doesn’t, I’m usually too tired to dwell on it.
This afternoon, it struck me that many parents don’t have the luxury to spend naptime lying next to their kids. Whether they’re working moms, busy with other children, or their little ones find comfort in blankets or stuffed animals, every family finds their own way. I totally respect that.
Recently, my older son had Pajama Day at school, where he was supposed to wear his favorite PJs and bring along a stuffed animal. Like his younger brother, he never really had a security object. He joked, “I guess I’d have to take you to school that day, Mom.”
While my older son no longer sleeps in our bed, we still share those quiet moments each night before he drifts off, with one of us (most often me) staying close until he’s asleep. My two-year-old, however, seeks my presence more intensely—naps and throughout the night, his small frame nestled against mine. I realize this level of closeness might seem unusual to some, but it’s second nature to me after all this time.
Why do I do it? Partly, it was simply easier to respond to their cries rather than figure out alternative soothing methods. But more than that, I hold onto them because I want to cherish their childhoods. I know this time is fleeting. My eight-year-old is already pulling away, preferring to retreat to his room and collapse into bed without a second thought for cuddles.
But my two-year-old? He still wants to curl up against me, his damp hair still smelling of baby shampoo. I can’t bring myself to rush this. The thought of it ending tugs at my heart. I’m aware that it will come to pass—time doesn’t slow down, no matter how much we wish it would.
So, despite the moments of frustration when my personal time gets interrupted, the times I feel overwhelmed, or even the nights I wish for space to sleep alone, I make my way to him. I lie in the dark, often just waiting, sometimes resting, and occasionally scrolling on my phone. In those moments, I’m taking him in, freezing time just a little. I’m holding on.
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Summary
This piece reflects on the tender moments of parenting, particularly the bond formed during naptime and bedtime routines. As children grow and seek independence, parents find themselves cherishing these fleeting moments of intimacy. The author shares her experience of lying beside her son, emphasizing the importance of holding onto childhood as time marches on.