Even With Older Children, Attachment and Connection Support Sleep

A photo from quite a few years back of a relaxed and joyful part of our bedtime routine —hanging out together. Sleep is important. And so is connection. The two can work together. (It is recommended that children under two not bed share next to a sibling.)

There was a time before kids when I was not as attachment-focused in my sleep approach. And if I am completely honest with myself, there have been times even after becoming a mother where I have struggled with attachment-based approaches to supporting sleep. Shifting my perspectives and expectations this much has been a process.

But now, with my youngest at age 4, and with my two older boys, I’ve hit my stride (without perfection, but with calm intention) when it comes to supporting their sleep most nights.

Tonight’s bedtime routine (with all it’s imperfections, and bumps) feels like a story worth telling, in that it reflects how profoundly I’ve shifted my priorities around night time parenting. I don’t dismiss the importance of sleep (enough of it, and of good quality). But I do know that more often than not the best way for our kids to get good sleep is to meet (and exceed) the need with an open heart and a calm, unhurried state of mind.

Perhaps some nights an open heart and a calm, unhurried mind are a struggle. On those nights it’s a challenge to dig deep and meet the need. It becomes a war against our intentions, which often comes out looking like a battle against our kids: them resisting sleep, and us trying to overpower their resistance.

But tonight there was no strong arm, no temptation to coerce, and no resistance. Instead, the evening started with rather feeble efforts on my part to start the routine, and ended with a sense of such connection that I am smitten.

At the usual bedtime, as I do on nights when I am distracted and trying to get work done, I was verbally guiding my two older kiddos (6 and 9) to bed. But as with so many pieces of parenting, you’ve got to walk the walk….and actually walk with them upstairs! Instead, I was giving instructions about shutting down screen time while tapping on my laptop, and listing off bedtime steps without modelling them myself. Hardly “leading by example”.

Now I do know that my children are capable of walking up stairs independently. Of brushing their teeth independently. Of getting dressed independently. Of climbing into bed and crawling under the covers independently. But I have learned well both through research and through parenting experience, that the ability to do something independently is not the only factor in accomplishing a task. Not by a long shot. Coming alongside, and “doing with” are powerful strategies for connecting and accomplishing.

So instead of escalating the volume of my voice, getting sharper and snappier and frustrated, I paused, and heeded the call from my spouse to please come upstairs and help usher them to bed (we both play integral parts in the bedtime wind-down) —tonight things weren’t going all that smoothly. There seemed to be a frenetic energy in the upstairs loft (full moon?!). A lot was happening that had very little to do with bedtime. There were push ups and jumping jacks, karate punches and kicks into cushions, building of forts, requests to make elaborate paper plate faces to tape to these “punching bags” (yes that sounds terrific; yes, it will have to wait till tomorrow), and a lot (a lot) of talking.

But step by step, slowly and calmly, we made our way to their beds where story time was pulled off the roster but gratitude questions and a review of their day remained intact. By now it was very late and despite having more work to take care of, I lay with them a while, and I closed my kindle (did I say screens shouldn’t be part of bedtime? Direction not perfection!), and just lay there as my middle child told me elaborate explanations of how things work. He chatted while holding my hand. His volume was louder than usual, and we kept having to remind him that his little brother was sleeping. He talked with excitement and enthusiasm and while he talked he played with my hair. And then, interrupting his story, he requested that I get the detangling brush….so that he could brush the knots out of my hair.

Now the old me —before I became a mother, or before we got to a point where I was getting enough sleep most nights to make flexibility and patience easy— would have said no, it’s bed time, good night. But tonight I paused, considered how comfortable and content he was: he was getting one-on-one time with me as he peered at the full moon out his window and lazily shared contemplative explanations of zombies and werewolves.

Here was a kiddo whose one-on-one time often gets squeezed out between the needs of his younger brother and the activities of his older brother. The kiddo who sometimes stops talking out of frustration that no one is listening, or that he’s been interrupted again. Here he was chatting to me, connecting with me. So I did what I felt compelled to do: I got the comb, I brought it up, and he combed my hair while talking, while solving dilemmas of his day, while unwinding for sleep.

When all the knots were out I said good night, gave the boys kisses, and left. They both fell asleep without another peep.

There is something liberating about approaching night time this way. For all the conflict, or upset, or missed opportunities to connect during the day, night time has fewer distractions. Night time is a chance to put a cherry on top of the day, no matter how bad the day has been. Night time could be (and often is!) a stressful, exhausting ritual of resistance when we as parents can be maxed out. But by “finishing strong”, and finishing with connection, I’ve made up for some of the less-than-ideal parts of today.

Whatever needs he had not had filled during the day seemed topped up well by my spending this time with him as he lay in bed. And his need for sleep is fulfilled too: maybe not as early as ideal, but certainly as smoothly as I could ever wish for.

Snug as kittens: even older kiddos need to feel relaxed and to unwind with parental support sometimes.