I usually nurse Dylan to sleep. It's called taking the easy route, folks, you'll understand when you have a 16 month old. He's in a big boy bed and if I nurse him down he goes to bed in ten minutes verses the hour plus that it would take if I don't.
Yesterday, Sean put Dylan to bed for the first time. It took him twenty minutes. I was beside myself with joy. For the first night since October tenth of 2010, I took a break from bedtime duty. Sean came downstairs after all was silent and shook his tail feathers around like proudcock, telling me that I should've asked for help sooner because this whole bedtime thing is a breeze.
Cough cough.
Well. I had already nursed Dylan for thirty minutes before Sean had gone upstairs and he was on the edge of slumber. Of course I didn't tell that to Sean and instead let him believe that he was the king of bedtime...please everyone bow down to His Majesty.
Tonight was the true test.
True to form, my sweet stubborn Irishman decided that he was going to put Dylan to sleep without any help from the milkers. How hard can it be? It was 38 years experience verses 16 months and how'd he do?
An hour and 14 minutes. Sean just came downstairs cranky and ornery, complaining about how our next child is going to sleep in a crib; no more of this bed sharing that we did with Dylan.
I love bed sharing. And as much a I love my husband, he is a heavy sleeper and maybe woke up five times in the middle of the night because he heard the baby cry. I will probably do the same sleep routine with baby #2.
So maybe my husband is less of a proudcock tonight, but maybe he appreciates me a bit more now that he knows how hard it can be to get that little boy to bed. Either way, I'm eternally grateful that he is trying to give me a much needed break.
