Last week, we set up the toddler bed in Scotland’s room, thinking we’d give the shared room a try. It resulted in many late nights (full of fun for the boys) followed by days of emotional duress and conflict when their fatigue hit them. It didn’t take long to realize that, when other options were available, the shared bedroom wasn’t our thing.
So, Saturday we took down the crib and moved the toddler bed into Anders room. The last few nights there has been much screaming and tantruming at the door by Anders- who fortunately can’t quite open the door if closed tightly. The length of these tantrums has grown shorter, and I was hopeful for tonight. As I’d hoped, his crying ended soon after it’d begun. I sat downstairs reading, and feeling smug that our transition was near complete. About 30 minutes later I hear “Mommy, Mommy?” in a low husky voice. At first I assume it’s Scotland, but no, it’s Anders. He crawls up on the rocking chair with me to watch the video I was watching on my phone about how our church helps refugees. Scotland came down a few moments later saying “I want to cuddle!” One on each side we sat snug under a blanket as I explained the sad predicament of millions of people, we pondered what we could do. Then I sent them back to bed. Scotland happily obliged, and fortunately, Anders followed suit. They walked upstairs, single file. I didn’t hear a peep or sound afterwards. Could they possibly have just gone back to their beds? After 15 minutes I came up to investigate. Anders door was closed, his bedside lamp shining under the door. I quietly opened the door to find his bed empty. I tiptoed down the hall to check if he was in bed with Scotland. Not in bed, but happily asleep on the floor near him.
My heart warmed at the love of my two boys. They are the best of friends. Witnessing their sweet relationship is one of my favorite parts of motherhood. They may not be permanently sharing a room, but I secretly hope that there are many nights when they sneak in to cuddle up together.