Naptime was a struggle. Always was, probably would be until he grew out of them. And not that Regina wanted her little boy to grow up any faster than he already was, but she'd cherish the day where naptime could be a solitary time when she could actually get work done.
The trouble maker in question was running around and around the coffee table, screeching in delight at his mother giving chase.
"Henry," Regina pled. She leaned toward one end of the table and just as she shifted her footing, he sensed the change and stumbled in the other direction. "Henry, darling," she said again, this time staying still. He giggled from the other side of the table. "You've got to take a nap."
"No Mama!" he shrieked, hands slapping on the table playfully. "No nap! 'M not sleepy!"
Regina sighed. At least he's tiring himself out, she thought.
But the city council wasn't going to find that an acceptable excuse when she showed up half an hour late to their meeting. It was already a hassle for her to hold the meeting in her own home. They were understanding enough when Henry was younger and she didn't want to be away from him too long. But a screaming three-year-old was only tolerable once, maybe twice, before everyone, including his mother, got annoyed.
"Henry, Mama's gotta get back to work," she explained, knowing that her son would in no way care about her schedule. "You've gotta nap so Mama can be mayor." She reached for him, but he wriggled out of her grasp. This time, she groaned out her son's name.
"Sing!" she thought she heard him say, but it doesn't really register until his wide brown eyes connected with hers. "Sing, Mama, sing!" he said again. It was softer, much more her angelic and sweet prince than the little monster that took his place in the lead-up to naptime.
Regina knew her answer now determined whether or not Henry would calm down enough to sleep. But she really didn't like to sing. "All for the sake of this meeting," she mumbled under her breath. Henry's features perked up at her utterings, so of course, she relented.
"If Mama sings, do you promise to take a nap?"
He nodded, lips rounding over his teeth. Walking around the side until they stood side by side, Regina crouched at his level, he held out one small pinky and looked at her until she did the same. His finger wrapped around as much of hers as possible.
"Promise," he said. And then he opened his arms, a span of maybe two feet, expecting her to pick him up.
And so she did. His arms draped around her neck as she hoisted him onto her hip. Henry rested his head in the crook of her neck, the top of his hair scratching against her skin.
This was her baby boy.
She hummed a little before singing "You are my sunshine" and holding him closer to her. "My only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey."
She carried him up the stairs, singing all the while. "You never know, dear, how much I love you."
Then she heard his soft breathing and felt little puffs on her neck. Regina smiled. "I told you you were sleepy, darling" she gloated.
Gently laying him on his bed, Regina dragged his blanket over him. He shifted slightly, moving and curling up so he faced his mother. A tuft of hair fell on his brow at the movement. She brushed it away, a sad grin on her face as she pushed it to the frame of his face.
"Sleep well, sunshine," she whispered. A gentle press of her lips to his forehead, one final longing gaze (she wasn't sure how many more naptime fights she'd have), and she was off to that city council meeting.
a/n: this was written as a secret santa present to whitebuddah0524 on tumblr based off a post she wrote shortly after i got her name about Regina singing 'You are my sunshine' to little Henry.
i should be updating Shower Streams soon and (hopefully) beginning a new OQ multi-chapter AU sometime soon. I'm writing it all out first so the story can have regular updates. on a related note, if you want to beta that OQ story, send me a message. especially if you have some knowledge about the city of London. we can chat.
as always, feel free to leave a word. until next time, muah.