His Little Nook

When our first baby, Willie, turned two, the problem of how to get him out of our bed and into his own little bed seemed to consume every waking hour for months and months. Would he ever do it? Would he ever sleep through the night? Would he cry every night? Would he be scarred for life? This crying—is it separation anxiety, or is he just tired?

I think I lived inside his head for the first three years of his life, anxiously wondering how each new experience would affect him. I wanted him to be attached to me (he was). But I also wanted sleep.

I remember long phone calls with my mother: she indulgently discussed for hours (it seems) how to ease Willie into his own bed. She told me to make his bed "special". She told me to make a little bedtime ritual for him. She told me he'd be fine (what?!).

I talked to mothers of large families. They smiled distantly and said sorry, they couldn't remember how their toddlers slept. What? How could you forget something this traumatic and important?!

When Hugh came along, we were a little more tired, a little more heartless. As soon as he was old enough to sleep alone, we just tucked him into bed with Willie. We made a little ritual of lullabies and a lit candle. He would come back to our bed whenever he wanted. We cuddled him for a moment, but we always sent him back. He was fine.

Matthias has the dubious luck of being the third born. Our sleep ritual goes something like this: Teeth are brushed, pajamas are donned—there is hilarity and violence between brothers as the room is tidied.  Matthias joins in the fun. Papa sings prayers and reads a story. Matthias scales furniture and drives his cars over people's heads. A candle is lit. Matthias blows it out. Ta ta Matthias!  Mama sings lullabies and rocks Matthias. (Or sometimes she just says goodnight.) Kisses and hugs. Then she says, "Matthias, where do you want to sleep?"

Sometimes he chooses mama and papa's bed. Sometimes he chooses not to go to bed. But usually he crawls in with a big brother and makes a nuisance of himself for half an hour. Then, when he starts to feel sleepy, he takes his pillow and blanket, and tucks himself into bed.

Doesn't that make your heart just bleed? He puts himself to bed!


I'm way, way too tired to feel guilt over this at 9 in the evening. So I made him his own little nook. It's special, it's cozy. His baby is there. His books are there. It's there when he needs it.

 There was a time when our children weren't allowed toys in bed. We wanted a "sleep atmosphere"—no playing allowed! Our second child had cuddly toys. He was allowed to cuddle them quietly before sleep. Our third child plays noisily in the dark with anything that isn't a sharp implement. He falls asleep with six plastic guys under his back and a playmobile horse down his shirt (if he's wearing anything at all, that is...)

Three different babies, three different approaches to parenting, three different ways of falling asleep. And all three boys are very, very fine.

In the bunk above, big brother Willie watches out for everyone. In his little bed nearby, Hugh is breathing softly. (Hugh is a champion sleeper.) Mama and Papa are just around the corner. Matthias is getting sleepy. He crawls into his nook. He empties a bin of playmobile on himself. There, perfect. He curls up and goes to sleep.

Goodnight, goodnight!

Far flies the light!

But still God's love

Will shine above

Making all bright.

Goodnight, goodnight!