I have been thinking a lot about "last times". The last time you see someone, the last day of a job, the last time you ate at a favorite restaurant before it closed, the last time you slept in your childhood home. It seems that as a general rule, we rarely know that the last time is the last until it's over. It's typically in hindsight that we realize our last time has passed.
We have recently been struggling with naps and bedtimes again. Apparently the joy of increased autonomy and physical ability also brings the double edged sword of willfulness. Which is why we MUST have Mickey Mouse in our laps for story time and rocking. Which is also why (most recently) we MUST read the Chugga Chugga Choo Choo book every night. It also may be why the Tot refuses to snuggle very much anymore. In fact, frequently after about 30 seconds of rocking, he sits up and points at the crib in a very assertive manner indicating that he is done with rocking and ready to get on with the business of sleeping. Let me also just say that this does not always indicate that sleeping will occur. As a matter of fact, many an evening I get to listen to a lengthy monologue from the Tot to his stuffed friends for a good fifteen to twenty minutes after he is tucked in. In any case, his actually calming down and letting me rock him has become a rarity at best. Which is why, on the random occasion that he actually does snuggle up and let me soothe him all the way to sleep, I have gotten in a (very bad) habit of continuing to rock him for an extra song or two just to enjoy the moment and the warmth of my sleeping son. Because each time, I never know if it will be the last time.