The Pages of Goodnight Moon, Ranked by Our Ten-Month-Old Son

The baby Rocco is ten months old today. He takes two naps a day and goes to sleep for the night around 7pm, which means that he experiences “bedtime” three times a day. It’s remarkable, how much of his day revolves around getting ready for bed. When he was a newborn, he slept even more than this, but there was less of a process to it. We could just wrap him up and stow him on his back, and he’d be out like a light. Now that he’s older, he has to be formally guided into sleep, like a little king responsible for discharging certain religio-civic rituals.

Like many other babies, he likes to hear “Goodnight Moon” at least once before falling asleep. On any given day someone reads “Goodnight Moon” to him an average of nine times, so he’s pretty familiar with it at this point — which is not to say that the novelty has yet worn off for him.

The cover of “Goodnight Moon” is perhaps the most characteristic element of “Goodnight Moon.” You don’t get any “Goodnight Moon”ier than this. He goes nuts for it. Show him the cover and say “It’s time for ‘Goodnight Moon’” and you’ve made a friend for life. Ten stars.

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This page usually bores me, but he likes it. I think he finds it refreshing after the busyness of the cover page. Sometimes I feel a little stupid saying “by Margaret Wise Brown, Pictures by Clement Hurd” again right after having read them already, but there aren’t that many words in the book, and the baby appreciates thoroughness. I never used to read “HarperCollinsPublishers” to him until one night I heard Lily reading that line, and I’ll be damned if she’s going to outdo me. “HarperCollinsPublishers” it is.

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A triumph. The “great green room” is my baby’s favorite celebrity. He can’t believe it’s time to look at the great green room.

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Divisive. If he’s very sleepy, he might be lightly mesmerized by it. If he’s only moderately sleepy, this is when he starts grabbing. This kid takes swings at “Goodnight Moon” on this page like it’s his worst enemy. “Let me at ‘em,” he seems to say. “By God, I’ve had just about enough of this. I’ll show you what’s what, with my fists and teeth and so on.”

Depending on how sleepy I am, I’ll either primly hold the book just out of reach so we can finish in a civilized fashion, or let him gnaw on the spine until it’s time to put him in the crib.

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Loves the two kittens. He calls them “Gogo.” He calls everything Gogo now.

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Doesn’t much care about the combs or brushes. Loves the quiet old lady, especially if I whisper “hush” in a funny voice, at which point he will tilt his big melon head backwards and smile at me with his seven little teeth.

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My favorite, for whatever it’s worth. I’m probably influencing his opinion here. What a splendid, busy room to fall asleep in. Although I can’t countenance leaving out a bowl of mush on the nightstand. Food has no place on a nightstand.

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He really wants to grab this page. I think he likes the big fried-egg silhouette shapes.

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He’s indifferent to this page. I don’t know why. Maybe the great green room palls after a while and he needs a break from it.

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95% chance he’s going to say “Gogo” again on this page, to the point that I feel sort of crushed if he doesn’t.

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Likes it, but I’m probably cheating by drawing his attention to the mouse, who is trying to sneak past the old lady to get to the mush. “Look at the mouse,” I say. “He’s being sneaky.” This usually gets a laugh, although I have to say “SNEAKY” in a silly voice in order to get it.

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Loves it. Huge response. I think it’s because the little house is so big, and the mouse is so small. That kind of thing really cracks our baby up, when one thing is big and another thing is not so big.

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This is where it all starts to fall apart. We always start strong, but he doesn’t yet have the attention stamina to really make it through the whole thing without trying to yank off my lips or ingest the book. It’s just too many goodbyes in a row, for a ten-month old.

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I like this page. I think it’s polite to say goodnight to nobody, just in case. It’s sweet, and a good introduction to the story of Odysseus and Polyphemus.

After this it’s just a blur. The pages get too dark for the baby to really care about what’s happening, and he’s either nodding asleep against my shoulder or trying furiously to box my ears. He’s the most wonderful baby there ever was. Soon he’ll be going to sleep again, and one of us will help him get there.