5-4-3-2-1, Goodnight: The One Time I Forgot “One More Time”

💥 The Real-Life Mom Moment That Hit Me Hard

When my daughter was about 15 months old, I tried to go back to work.

It was a disaster.

She got RSV just a few days into daycare, I had to call out of work, and we both went through a huge wave of separation anxiety, disruption, and stress. It was awful.

And ever since then, bedtime became one of those tender moments that really mattered.

To help ease the transition, our pediatrician suggested a simple bedtime countdown:
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1 … goodnight!”

It worked like magic. It gave her predictability and comfort.
But as she got older and more verbal, it morphed into something new.

Every night, after the first countdown, she’d say:
“One more time, Mommy.”

So I’d do it again. Sometimes twice. Sometimes three times. It became our thing.
A silly little ritual, yes, but one that made her feel safe and seen.

We’ve been doing it for years.
She’s now 4½, and she still asks for “one more time.”

But one night recently… I forgot.

🧠 What Really Happened That Night

I had a million things on my mind.
The to-do list was swirling. I was distracted and exhausted.

I said “5-4-3-2-1, goodnight! I love you!”
Closed the door.
And walked away.

I didn’t wait for the “one more time.”
I didn’t grab the baby monitor.
I didn’t double-check.

Fifteen minutes later, I remembered.

I ran to grab the monitor, turned it on… and saw her curled up, sobbing.

Tears streaming down her cheeks. Calling for me.
“Mommy… Mama… I need you…”

I bolted upstairs.

And through the tears, she managed to say:
“You didn’t do it one more time.”

And my heart shattered.

In over three years, I had never missed it.
Not once.

And in that one moment, when she needed that tiny ritual to feel okay, I let it slip.
Not on purpose. Not because I didn’t care.

Because I was tired. Because I was human.
Because sometimes, we go into autopilot and don’t even realize we’ve tuned out.

It’s like driving somewhere and not remembering how you got there… your brain was somewhere else the whole time.

That was me, that night.
On autopilot at bedtime.
And she felt it.

🔁 What We’ve Changed Since

We’ve made a few small changes since that night.
My husband now preps the monitors while I do bedtime.
They're ready and turned on, so when I come back downstairs, I don’t forget.

It’s a little thing. But it’s our new “safety net.”

Because when you're the default parent, the one they want, the one they cling to, even the smallest misstep can feel enormous.
And we want to get it right so badly.

But here's the thing:
That one night? It doesn’t define me.

And it doesn't define our bedtime routine either.

💬 Final Thought: There’s No Perfect Script, Just Presence

I’m not proud of what happened that night.
But I’m also not going to live in shame over it.

Because here's what I know now:

• We all have moments when we’re stretched too thin

• Sometimes we miss something important, even when we usually never do

• And our kids, as forgiving and sensitive as they are, love us through the missteps

The bigger lesson here isn’t about perfection.

It’s about presence.

That night reminded me how powerful even the smallest rituals are for our kids and how much they notice when we aren’t truly with them.

So I’m working on it.
I’m learning to pause the mental to-do list at bedtime.
To be all in, even just for those final 5-4-3-2-1 moments.

Because the dishes can wait.
The emails can wait.
But “one more time”... can’t.