My 2-year-old son insists that I stay by his side for a good portion of his nap time. It’s not a strict demand, but it’s become our routine. If I don’t lie down with him, he tends to wake up earlier, leading to a cranky afternoon. So, when I hear him stir, I make my way to him. I often scroll through social media, jot down thoughts in my notes app, or simply close my eyes for a moment.
As a parent with over eight years of experience, my approach to parenting has shifted significantly. I no longer obsess over every decision as I did when my first child was an infant. I lean towards a more attachment-style philosophy, but I no longer analyze it too deeply. It’s simply a part of my life now. It works for us, and at this stage, I’m too exhausted to question it.
I realize that many parents face different circumstances. Some are working mothers, while others have different children to attend to during naptime. Some kids find comfort in toys or blankets, while others may not require the same level of sleep assistance that my son does. I fully understand that every family finds their unique rhythm.
Recently, my older son had Pajama Day at school, where he was to wear his pajamas and bring a favorite stuffed animal. Unlike his little brother, he never had a specific comfort item. He joked, “I guess I’ll just have to take you, Mom!” Although he no longer sleeps in our bed, we still share precious moments every night as I help him settle down.
Conversely, my 2-year-old relies heavily on my presence. He needs me for naps and throughout the night. I know not everyone embraces this level of closeness; it may seem unusual to some. I often forget how different our parenting style might appear to others because it feels so ingrained in my life.
Why do I choose to stay close? Partly, it comes down to ease—responding to my children’s needs feels more natural than finding alternative methods to soothe them. I also tune out criticisms and follow my instincts. However, there’s a deeper reason. I’m cherishing their childhoods by holding them close. I realize this phase won’t last forever. Independence will come in its own time, and as my eldest grows, I see him pulling away. He rarely wants to cuddle before bedtime anymore. Soon, he’ll shut his door and retreat to his room without a second glance.
But my 2-year-old still desires that closeness. His small frame fits perfectly against me, and even on warm May nights, he still carries that sweet baby scent. I’m in no rush for these moments to end; the thought of it pains me. I know time is fleeting.
So even when my personal time gets disrupted, or I feel overwhelmed, or I yearn for solitude, I still go to him. I lie there in the quiet, sometimes just waiting, sometimes scrolling through my phone, but always absorbing the moment. I’m capturing these fleeting seconds. I’m holding on.
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In summary, as I lie beside my son, I hold onto the moments of childhood, cherishing the bond we share. Each day brings new challenges and joys, but the essence of these times is irreplaceable.