No bottles today. There was crying and feet stomping and much under-breath muttering. (You can guess who did what.)
This is hard. But I knew it would be, thus waiting till my kid was a hair away from 18-months.
Our nighttime bottle routine is not just for Theo, you see. It’s for me, too. I love that he completely relaxes on my lap. How he leans into my chest and sometimes reaches up to stroke my hair. I love kissing his head and singing dippy little songs to him while he drinks. I love picking him up and holding him when he’s all through. How, when he’s really tired, he’ll cradle his head in the curve of my neck and rest his hand on my shoulder, like we’re at a middle school dance. I love laying my sleepy guy in his crib and he gazes back up with a goofy, milky grin.
There was none of that tonight. Neither of us were relaxed or comforted when I finally left Theo’s room at 7:15. Ugh.