Bedtime Routine, the Extended Version

 

Hatred of being alone, fear of the dark, and disappointment that he can't stay up later to watch TV or play longer all conspire to make Asher pull out all the stops to delay bedtime.  I on the other hand am working at cross purpose, for it is only after he goes down that I can fully exhale and jump back into work stuff, tend to house chores, or have a moment to relax.  

Ah, but the bedtime routine, and its sole choreographer, is just so cute that I can't resist playing along.  The acting analogies are intentional, for it really does feel like Asher is directing a scene and demanding that I get it right.  I'm used to reading a certain number of books, in a certain way and in a certain sequence, for that was Jada's jawn.  And I'm used to an interlude in the routine so that the kid in question can get one more hug and kiss from Mommy, because Asher rolled that way.  

What new innovation Asher has brought to the table is a literal rehearsing of our final moments before the curtain falls.  I won't say exactly how it goes, although trust me he says the same thing every night so I've memorized every word.  The gist is that he is requesting a bit of call and response: he'll say I love you, I need to say something specific back, and then after I close the door he has one more line and I do too.

Alas, most days, just when I think I'm done and can put my nose in a good book, he does the six-year-old version of a curtain call, which is to say that as it turns out, despite my having asked him several times, in fact he does now realize he needs to use the bathroom one more time.  Which entails all of the steps that go into that, and a resetting of our aforementioned back-and-forth dialogue.  

I honestly do love it, even though it drives me crazy and causes my eye to twitch in the moment as I am desperately trying to make it to the end of yet another long and impossible day as a working parent.  It's too cute not to savor it, and I do.  The whole spectacle is his directorial masterpiece, and who am I to cut it short, complain through it, or wish it away?