“Hold me tight, Mama,” he said. I sat down on his tiny toddler bed and pulled his body into a tight embrace. A huge smile spread across his face, like a night light illuminating the darkness.
“I am safe,” he whispered. His teeth were so small.
“You are safe,” I whispered back. My heart grew and fluttered, becoming a mama bird flapping her wings and stretching them wide to bring her baby breastside.
I brushed my first baby’s long bangs across his forehead. His smile stayed in place the whole time.
“Hold me close again,” he said when I started to loosen my arms. I pulled him closer to my body. Sometimes I forget: he’s two. He’s so verbal, so perceptive, so tall for his age, and reaching for his independence with confidence and gusto. Sometimes I forgot how little he is and how much he needs my support. He’s two.
He stared into my eyes. “Your little nose,” he said with delight, tapping the tip of it with his fingerpad the size of a pencil eraser.
“I love your hair, Mama,” he continued, patting my half-unraveled bun. Oh man, he’s giving me the sweetness I’ve craved for so long between us. Ever since he could turn his body as a baby, he wriggled out of hugs and away from physical closeness. These days he’s wriggling right back in. I just want to soak in this moment down to my marrow and feel it reconstitute my body and the way I relate to other bodies.
This is real life, though, so the story didn’t end with us saying goodnight and falling asleep in our own beds with placid smiles and our hands in prayer position by our faces like postcard angels. Nope, we went on to see each other about thirty more times in three hours of a toddler’s bedtime magical mystery tour. It would turn out to be one of the longest nights in history of trying to put him to bed.
Hold me tight, Mama. Hold me tight, Daddy.
For two and a half years he was astoundingly easy to put to bed.
This is a toddler who says, “I’m sleepy. I’m ready for nap” and when very tired on certain nights asserts, “I want to go STRAIGHT to bed.” With stories told, blankets tucked, stuffed animals all accounted for, and kisses given, we say, “Goodnight, I love you.” And we’re out.
When he was younger, he often babbled to himself once we left the room, and in later months he had full one-sided conversations. But he managed the to settle down on his own and seemed content that way. A self-soother. That part seemed checked off the parenting goals list.
Then this week we started potty training. He showed all signs of readiness and was enthusiastic about it. On Day One he showed impressive understanding of his body and was on his way to mastery, using the potty without announcement and following his own urges. “Yay, success! This is going so smoothly! What a good job we’ve done preparing him for this and meeting him where he is!” we thought.
Any time the parenting ego starts to pat itself on the back, some kind of fallback or challenge is around the corner.
“Mama, hold me tight.” “Daddy, hug me tight.” “Mama, rub my back.” “Mama, I’m scared.” He has come out of his room over and over seeking us recently, taking two hours or more to fall asleep.
On the second night of the bedtime magical mystery tour, my husband and I were engaged in a wind-down couch conversation, enjoying each other’s company and relaxing. Once, twice, three times, four…our boy came out of his room wanting us.
“I wasn’t mentally prepared for this to be an ongoing thing,” my husband, Lloyd, said to me. We had kept walking our kiddo back to his room calmly, saying, “Goodnight, I love you, it’s time for bed.” It wasn’t working. This was not usual.
Lloyd excused himself from the room when he recognized he needed a pause to enter this current reality with compassion and calm.
My first inclination was to think, Shiiit. Goodbye, sleep. How long will this last tonight? Is this the new norm for us? Ok, great, my husband’s out, so all the pressure’s on me now to deal with this. Fantastic.
I took a deep breath. I checked in with myself. And I realized I wasn’t even tired in the moment. I had plenty of energy to support my child. I remembered that I had even immensely enjoyed the sweet moments of connection the night before.
“You know what? This is ok. I’m there,” I realized. “My husband might not be prepared for this process right in this moment, but I’m prepared.” And a few minutes later Lloyd was ready, too, and bringing his full loving presence to the situation.
Hold me tight, Mama. Hold me tight, Daddy.
For two and a half years our child practically put himself to bed. Then recently something changed for him.
He has wanted more affection and closeness than he has ever requested or accepted before. I initially had to run the mental calculations “Am I starting a bad habit by staying by his side until he falls asleep? Am I being permissive? Am I being indulgent?” I soon decided the answer for now was “no”. Is presence a bad habit? Is craving and asking for affection a bad habit? Is wanting connection and comfort from a loved one a bad habit?
Moreover, I realized that I could respond to him in this moment without projecting conditions and fears on uncertain future circumstances. In this moment, more than anything I wanted him to feel the closeness of our hearts, the wholeness of our connection, and the validity of his feelings.
He’s heard others tell him “You’re such a big boy!” now that he’s using the potty, and I think he’s not so sure he wants to get bigger and he’s figuring out what that means.
When we respond to his request for connection at bedtime, he’s learning he’s not alone in the world. He’s learning that he’s safe with us and that his emotions are safe to have, too. He’s learning that his desire for comfort and protection are normal and accepted. He’s learning that getting bigger doesn’t mean going silent about your needs. He’s learning that his feelings matter to us, and we respond to him with care, including caring boundaries.
Hold me tight, Mama. Hold me tight, Daddy.
There are days when I want to be held more, too.
There are whole phases of life–swaths of seasons–when I need more emotional support from the people who love me. And I can reach out to a vast web of support, including family, friends, and professionals, including my therapist and trusted spiritual guides. Our toddler only has us on a day-to-day basis. We are his people. He relies on us fully.
I want our actions to tell him, “You are upset, and I am here with you. I am here for you when you need me. ” I don’t stop being the parent I want to be to him when bedtime passes. He doesn’t stop learning what this family is about, who he is, and how the world responds to him.
This is not the moment to teach him a lesson about independence. This is a moment for him to learn about connection, both emotional and physical. I want him to witness and experience plenty of safe touch in his childhood. I don’t want him to feel shame for wanting to be close to a loved one’s body when he’s scared, lonely, sad, or simply desires affection. I want him to be assured that it’s absolutely normal to want to be held.
Self-soothing and emotional regulation aren’t just about learning how to do it all by yourself and suffering in silence. It’s not about crying yourself to sleep and being ok with that. It’s also about asking the people you love to help you when you need it.
I don’t know how long he’ll need this kind of care at bedtime, but I’m here for it in this moment.
If it starts to feel detrimental to my own rest and health, then we’ll reassess and think through a new strategy. If it starts to interfere with the important time my husband and I share at night to connect and nourish our relationship, we’ll reassess. If it starts to compromise the integrity of his own sleep, we’ll make a new plan. For now, though, being there for him feels really important. This feels like a moment of crux in his development, and I trust my intuition there. I let fears of the future fall away, and I meet him in the present.
Hold me tight, Mama. Hold me tight, Daddy.
I’m proud of his strength in asking us to hold him. I’m proud of the way he clearly expresses his needs. This is the support he needs during this time. I have my ideas about why he’s asking to be held more, but I don’t need to fully understand why he needs the support. I can trust it. And I can trust my own intuition as a mother.
Photo credit: Ashley Prewitt Photography
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