There is no more heartbreaking sound than that of your child, wailing his heart out for you to come save him from having to go to bed alone. I am sitting here at the computer, as it is Todd’s turn to put Rollie down. I am guessing that Todd is sitting outside Rollie’s room, in the hallway, where Rollie can see him, but not paying Rollie any attention, a la The SuperNanny, but there is no way for me to know, since that would require calling up the stairs (obviously not an option), or actually climbing up there and peeking around the staircase corner. This would not work because there is the fear of being seen, and boy, then the jig would be up.
The crying started at 8:24 pm. It starts out not too distressed, but the plaintive, tear-stained yells of “Mamamamamamamamamamamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.. . mamamamamaaaaaaaaaaaa” soon begin to wax into a more panic-stricken, “Mama, eeeeze ["please," in Rollie's language], eeze, eeeeeeeeze, Mama, eeeze.” There is a point where it is as if his sadness turns to disbelief and despair, the “Mama eezes” morphing into an irate “No, no, no, NO mama, NO, noooooooooo,” and then they drift back to the more sorrowful, “Mamammmammamamammamamamaaaaa. . . . ,” which starts to trail off into sobbing and then quiet, more and more regularly, and all the while, I can hear the snot running out of his nose, and I know the tear-stained face he is wearing. It is the tear-stained face I am wearing.
It is 8:57 pm, and the crying has subsided into silence, the tears are drying on my face and my own snot has been wiped on the hem of my nightgown, but that little voice has come down and ripped out my heart. Night Night, Angel.
I better go eat some Godiva.