Ahh… bedtime routines. They have been my saving grace with the girls. The cornerstone of their lives, if you will. I nailed a good one down, early on with Pea, since passed down to include Coco, and it’s stuck with us through three years of goodnights. There have been tweaks along the way, the largest one being when Coco entered the picture, but for the most part, the routine has remained consistent. The beginning of our nightly wind-down ritual is a really strong signal to my girls that it’s time to wrap it up, day is done, calm down, let’s move it to the bathroom and bedrooms. And that routine always begins the same way, day in and day out, “all right, little ones… five minutes until bath-time…”

First, the girls take a bath. Recently, they have been doing so together, Coco is old enough for that now. But until she was about one, she would get the first bath, with Pea sitting on the side of the tub with me, “helping” me to bathe her little baby sister. But now, they play for a while, sometimes we add a little bubbles to the mix, but we always have a good time. We wash hair, lather up washcloths with soap and blow lots of bubbles. And then, we get out of the tub. Coco is first, she needs my assistance, and I wrap her up in her towel, and as I am wrapping her up, Pea is getting out on her own, putting on her big girl bathrobe.

We then head to the sinks, of which we are lucky to have two in the girls shared bathroom. While I brush Coco’s teeth, Pea brushes her own. We then all head together into Coco’s room, where I give her a quick baby massage with lavender oil and dress her in her pajamas. And massage? It’s another part of the nightly ritual that has been a constant. In fact, right before Pea was born, I read a wonderful book dedicated to the topic of baby massage, by Vimala McClure, entitled “Infant Massage: A Handbook for Loving Parents.” And while you might think, a book? About how to rub a baby with oil? Let me just say that the information in this book, if you are really interested in massage as a manner not only of bonding with your child, but as a means to promote overall whole being wellness, you need to check this book out. The information I gleaned from it was nothing short of a necessity. Things such as the direction in which your massage your child’s stomach? Can affect his or her digestion. Dramatically. And our oil of choice? It was always grapeseed oil, straight up. Although lately, we’ve graduated to oils by Burt’s Bees (smells divine, your kids will wake up with skin as soft as silk, but beware of the glass bottle with the twist-off cap: oil + glass + manual labor = disaster. My recommendation? Decant into a plastic bottle with a pump top. Not as elegant, but much safer.) I’ve also used California Baby, but it’s not my favorite, as it doesn’t do much to soften the often eczema-like scratchiness of Pea and Coco’s skin.) But back to our routine: all the while, Pea is generally playing a ukulele that her father brought back for the girls from Hawaii, and singing songs. Lately, her playlist has included “Frere Jacques” and “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” It’s the sweetest part of the evening, that she wants to sing a lullaby to her “baby,” which is how she affectionately refers to her little sister. “This is my baby, Coco. You have to be nice to her. And don’t take away her toys.” I have to giggle at that last part, because what she really means to say is, “don’t take away her toys, that’s my job…”

We then settle into Coco’s big, white chair, the three of us, where we read a few short books. Lately, it’s been “Goodnight Moon,” and “Daddy Hugs,” and then we end with my all-time favorite of the goodnight book genre, “If Kisses Were Colors.” Then, Coco goes into her crib, the nightlight goes on and the lamps go off, the air purifier turns on (for noise reduction, mostly), and Pea stands next to her little baby’s crib and tells Coco to have a good night’s sleep and that she can dream of ice cream, if she wants to. It’s now 7:00, and Coco is off to sleep shortly thereafter. We never hear a peep from her, that child was blessed with the easy-to-sleep gene.

We then head into Pea’s room. She gets out of her robe, puts on her own lotion, she being a big girl, and all. And then she chooses her pajamas for the evening, which is really little more than panties and a tee-shirt. We choose five books, and climb into bed. We snuggle up and read the books, stopping along the way to count how many balloons are in this illustration, what color tutus the ballerinas are wearing in that illustration. It takes about 30 minutes to get through those five books, but it’s just about my favorite time of the day with her. She rests her head on my chest, and she smells fresh and clean and it’s nothing less than precious time between the two of us. After we finish the books, there are kisses, hugs, tucking in, a quick chat about what the next day has in store for us. I pull her shade down, but leave it up just enough so that she can use the light from the late dusk to thumb through the stack of books that I then lay next to her, on her bed. I turn on her air purifier, again mostly for noise reduction, and head out the door with a flick of the light-switch and an “I love you.”

Sometimes, she conks out immediately, particularly after a “swim day” at camp. Other days, she’s restless and lonely, and thinks of many, many excuses to come out of her room. “You forgot to give me a goodnight water.” Or “I have to go tee-tee.” Now the goodnight water, while I know it’s a no-no, is just one of those things that I’ve since decided is not a big deal. It seems to give her comfort, a little bit of water in a cup on her bedside table. It’s usually still full the next morning, when I enter her room. And the tee-tee trips? I don’t know about that one. She and her sister have a bathroom that connects their two rooms, and why she won’t use it during the night, I have no idea. She would rather climb up two flights of stairs to our room, wake me up and ask me to allow her to use my bathroom. I’m fine with it, for now, at least she’s not doing it in her bed. At this point, I’m just so pleased that she has enough bladder control to wake herself up at night, that I don’t mind, at all, the disruption to my sleep. But my absolute favorite excuse is the newest addition to her bag of tricks, and it goes something like this, “mommy, I know I’m supposed to be in my bed, but I forgot to tell you something.” I ask her what it is that she forgot to tell me, and she quickly launches into, “I forgot to tell you that I love you and that you are the best mommy in the world.” Okay, cue the “awws…” This one gets me every time, and honestly, I actually look forward to this one, this excuse to climb out of her warm and comfy bed and come search for me. In fact, when I hear that distinctive whir of the air purifier as she opens her bedroom door? I cross my fingers and say a quick prayer that tonight? Her delay tactic? Is all about my awesomeness as a mother…

We’ve always had basically the same routine, it’s worked for us very well. And though things changed a bit when Coco arrived, they didn’t change by much. Both girls have essentially had a bath every night of their lives. That sounds insane, right? And perhaps it is, but that’s what we’ve chosen to do. I could probably count on just my two hands the times that the girls have actually skipped a bath. I must’ve read somewhere to be consistent with routines, and being the control freak that I am, I’d say that I took that advisement to heart, wouldn’t you?