Every night, I turn on the white noise in Ari’s room. Marc lifts Ari onto my lap, plugs in a nightlight, then shuts off the overhead light. I snuggle Ari close in a navy and white blanket. Just before he drinks his milk, he declares, “It’s love time!”
I didn’t come up with the name “love time.” He did. But I adore it.
Love time was shorter this evening than it typically is. Maybe it was because Ari was more tired than usual. Typically we chat about a variety of things [e.g., silly things that happened during the day, naughty things he did (like raiding the fridge!), what the panda bears on his wall do during the day, how many stuffed animals are in his crib], but tonight was a short and silly conversation about “Where’s Daddy?” (He was across the hall in his home office.) I noticed Ari rubbing his eyes, so I asked him, “Are you ready for crib?”
“Crib!” he repeated.
“Right now?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. “Kiss?”
He puckered up and planted a kiss on me.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you too,” he said.
Love time erases all of the impish behavior of the day. It’s hard to feel anything but sentimental when it’s love time.