Finally, after thirteen weeks, we've landed in a sort of a bedtime routine. There's a semi-predictable pattern. I can think one or two steps ahead, rather than just sprinting from one task to the next, juggling whatever baby/toddler/dog/food-related mini-emergency arises.
Here are the parameters: one parent, two children, one dog, and one cat. Yeah, basically, I'm on my own at bedtime. Sean's on shift and, thus, sleeping, or not sleeping, at a fire station ten miles away, and, when he's not on shift, he's now in this little thing called paramedic school, which demands his presence at least three nights a week. So, any bedtime strategies have to be doable by one parent, because we've only got two parents at home two, sometimes one, night a week.
(Note: while I have had my selfish woe-is-me moments, like when I've just been puked or pooped on by Jonas and Axel is yelling, "Dog dog dog dog dog," while waving his arms over his head in a booga-booga fashion and chasing the dog who is barking and who just finished eating the dinner that I foolishly put too close to the edge of the kitchen table, I recognize that we are very lucky. Sean has not been deployed overseas. Neither of us is struggling with a serious illness. I am not actually a single parent, even if I am alone with both kids most of the time that I'm not at work. It's just a bit of a rocky transition, from a 65/35 parenting split to something more like 80/20 or, as it will be in some weeks, 90/10.)
Anyway, here's what a typical evening is starting to look like at our house:
4:20 pm: Get home. Relieve nanny, who stays with the boys a couple days a week. Put bottles of expressed milk in the fridge. Wave goodbye to nanny.
4:30 pm: Strap Jonas into the Baby Bjorn. Play outside. See tractor. Wave to tractor. Chase Axel down the street after his long lost love, big yellow tractor. See bus. Wave to bus. Prevent Axel from running into the street to declare his love for the bus and all its passengers. See mail truck. Wave to mail truck. Follow mail truck down the street. Wath Axel cheer, "Mail mail mail mail mail!" Think how nice it must be for the mailman to have a fan club.
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