Every time I have the chance to put him to bed, I snatch it up.
Even though he usually cries over the idea of going to bed, halfway through getting pj's and a clean diaper on he changes his mind.
We close the blinds, the curtains, shut off the light, and settle in the rocking chair.
He's the sweetest snuggler, leaning his tired little self against me without protest.
His fingers wander up to touch my dangling earrings. I remind him to be gentle and he always looks at me, patting my cheek with his little hand. He giggles behind his pacifier...and I love that sound.
The rocking chair creaks, the sound machine blurs most of the noise downstairs, and I sing - Be Thou My Vision and Canaan's Land and Edelweiss and Brahm's Lullaby (which my mom used to sing to me when I was little, and which - to this day - makes me happily drowsy).
Little eyes droop lower and lower. I never like laying him down in the crib; I could happily rock him for hours. But of course I don't. I tuck him in, kiss his cheek one more time, and sneak out, willing the door not to squeak behind me.
One day he'll be too old for bedtime snuggles, but for now, I enjoy them to the fullest.
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