Since I became a parent 8 years ago I have made copious amounts of wrong decisions and formed a multitude of bad routines.
One of those many 'good idea at the time' practices was lying down with my kids to read a bedtime story and forming the habit of remaining there until they went to sleep. I'm ashamed to say that at times this would take up to 45 minutes and at other times I would simply fall asleep only to wake up with a crick in my neck and a rabbit on my face at 3am.
However each child managed to finally learn getting to sleep on their own when the next one came along, until there were no more coming along, and now I realise that the 'baby' is almost 4 and the practice is still continuing.
Last night I lay in the dark beside him and listened to his breathing settle and slow and a moment of calm descended. Looking at his beautiful sleeping face I thought to myself that actually 20 minutes of my day wasn't much of a sacrifice in exchange for these special moments.
I eased my arm out from under his neck and couldn't resist smothering his warm chubby cheeks with goodnight kisses.
Then as I went to leave his eyes flew open accusingly and he said increduously 'You going Mummy?'
I sighed and lay back down. Clearly not yet I wasn't.