Someone stamp "Sucker" on my forehead

David and I are still working on developing a bedtime routine for Elliott. Preferably one that allows him and me a reasonable amount of rest and sanity. David is giving him a bath and reading him a story, then we say goodnight. I was just practicing guitar since we had laid Elliott down, and I heard a funny gasping sound coming from our bedroom. I came in to check on him, and he had a tear rolling down his cheek and stuck out his bottom lip. I scooped him up, fed him for a second, and it dawned on me that I hadn't even let him start crying before I swooped in to "rescue" him from bedtime. I warned David that this might happen, but I didn't realize that it would only take tears (which are probably resulting more from allergies than sadness) and a pouty lip to snap me into sympathetic mommy autodrive. I've got some work to do.