by Rachel Ansari
I stood at the kitchen sink after dinner feeling nervous about what was to come… bedtime. I love my four wild things like there’s no tomorrow, but sometimes at bedtime I feel like tomorrow may never come and we’ll be stuck in eternal bedtime, Groundhog Day style. Even on good nights it takes a serious chunk of time to put four children to bed. As soon as I utter the words “time for bed” everyone needs something. Thing one is absolutely famished and how could we dare put him to bed with his belly aching from hunger. And no, snacks won’t do. This kid wants a burrito… ok dude. Thing two wants to talk about major life events like passing gas at circle time. Then he drops bombs like “I want you to have another baby” and I feel compelled to dissuade him by pointing out all the awful and annoying things his siblings do. Thing three wants to be reassured that we’re not going anywhere, like ever. Oh, and water. She wants water. Thing four is 18 months old and he wants to read his books, over, and over, and over (I am totally into this part of bedtime. I’ll take all the sweet snuggles and books I can get). And he doesn’t want to miss out. His sweet little ears perk up anytime the other children make a peep in our modest-sized house. By the time our routine is done SO AM I. If only I had a bedtime doula to provide non-judgemental physical, educational and emotional support so we can all have a positive bedtime experience...
I envision this doula like a manager in a boxing ring, cheering me on, making sure I have all the resources I need to succeed, and helping me up if I stumble. We both know that I’m the only one who can push through. I have to look within myself to draw on the last remaining strength and patience I possess so that when I hear “This burrito has cheese on it, gross!,” “Mom, it was the loudest fart ever and everyone laughed!,” or “Can I have some more water?,” I don’t call in the anesthesiologists to put me under until morning. My bedtime doula would have the water ready and waiting and she’d remind me to take a deep breath before I delivered the water so I could smile and be my best self even in the hard moments. She’d provide me with unbiased, evidence-based research on the benefits of talking with my kids at bedtime and of nourishing them with healthy foods instead of processed snacks even though I’d probably still grab the package of crackers if my kids would go for it. And I’d know she wouldn’t judge me for that decision. My doula would be confident that I was doing what I knew to be right for me and my family in that moment, even if it involved ingredients that none of us could pronounce. And when it was all said and done and my sweet wild things were frolicking in dreamland, she’d do the Carlton and the Arsenio Hall fist pump with me as we walk downstairs to where she’d prepared a full glass of wine and a snack that involves chocolate, organic, free-range, non-GMO chocolate, of course. She’d stay with me and let me talk -- or not talk -- while we wait for Thing three to peek her untamed curls and sleepy doe-eyes through the railing, asking “Can I have some water?.”
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