Bedtime has been my nemesis for many years. When I was a new mommy, breastfeeding precluded my husband from taking a very active part in putting the munchkin to sleep. Yeah, I know the manuals say to put the baby in the crib while awake, but trust me if the baby falls asleep while nursing you're good. Put him in the crib and run.
Somehow the routine has evolved over the years with me still bearing the greater burden of putting the kids to bed. On a typical evening, BadDad calls out to the kids that it's bedtime. He'll help with prayers and then wave goodnight from the door. That about sums up his role.
I, however, don't get off quite so easily. Before the actual tucking in, I've got the job of giving D-boy his 'dentist appointment', and tracking down M-girl to make sure she brushes her pearly whites. These days I'm just praying that K-boy is actually brushing his, because I sure don't have time to check. After prayers in the boy's room, I've got to read a story. Some nights I'm lucky enough not to get interrupted at every other word. Then it's down to M-girl's room for at least one chapter of her latest book, and often I'm cajoled into a second one. Finally I head to the kitchen to make sure everything is cleared up (heaven help me if it's been a popcorn night).
By the time I finally fall into bed I'm exhausted. BadDad will usually look up from his TV show about then and ask something like, "What took you so long?" Aggghhh!!!
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