Parenting
Updated: Jan. 4, 2023
Originally Published: Sep. 25, 2015
At 7 ½ years old, the summer before second grade, my son still needs me to lie with him until he drifts off to sleep. I often describe him as a live wire—his mind is always racing, constantly lost in thought. His body moves in sync with that bustling mind, but he’s not the most affectionate child. While he tolerates my cuddles, he rarely reciprocates, remaining stiff in my arms when my younger son melts into them. Falling asleep has never come easily to him; it takes considerable effort for him to unwind, and he has always needed my help—this hasn’t changed.
Most nights, I’m the one he prefers for bedtime. Sure, his dad can step in occasionally, but I’m the chosen one, and I cherish this role. Is it just a motherly instinct that draws him to me, or perhaps the countless nights we’ve shared like this? It’s likely a blend of both, and despite the time it sometimes takes and my exhaustion, I genuinely love these moments.
Once the lights go out, he begins to relax. Sometimes, his voice trembles as he shares worries that have been bubbling inside him, things he’s carried for weeks, waiting for the right moment to reveal. Other times, he dives into a monologue about his latest obsession—be it Minecraft or some other video game. Regardless of the topic, it feels significant and sacred for both of us.
This summer, we moved, which added a layer of anxiety for him. What used to be a 20-minute routine has stretched into longer sessions. He’ll choke out, “I can’t fall asleep,” and I reassure him, “I know you will. Your body needs sleep, and it will come.” In the past, if bedtime stretched on too long, I could sneak away under the pretense of needing a snack, and his dad would take over. However, lately, this option has been firmly rejected.
One night, as the minutes dragged on, I felt my patience wearing thin. It had been a long day with the kids, and it was nearing 10 p.m. I felt a twinge of resentment at being the only one capable of getting him to bed, as my husband’s evening seemed to end far earlier than mine.
Finally, I caught the sound of a soft sigh, signaling that he was asleep. I quietly slipped out of the room, only to find him appearing in the kitchen, squinting at the bright light. “I just really need you to stay,” he said, his voice cracking, tears welling in his eyes. In that moment, all my frustration transformed into regret. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” I replied, pulling him into a warm embrace. I wasn’t sure if he sensed my earlier annoyance, but my heart ached with empathy.
It deeply touched me to see how openly he expressed his needs. He’s a bright and articulate boy, but like many children—especially those with busy minds—articulating needs clearly can be a challenge.
While our nighttime routine may seem unrealistic to many, it works for us, and I trust he will outgrow it eventually. I hope that through these countless hours spent together—first cradling him as a baby, then holding him close, and now simply being present and listening—I have shown him that his feelings matter and that he has safe spaces to share them.
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