I type this with a heavy feeling in my heart and a slight frown on my face.
I am mourning the loss of a special friend today.
The nap.
Not just ANY nap. My daughter’s nap. It would appear that at almost 16 months of age, she has decided, much to her mother’s chagrin, that she simply doesn’t NEED or WANT TWO naps per day on any sort of consistent basis.
WHATTHEMOTHERLOVINGEFFAREYOUTALKINGABOUT???
Wait, wait…..it’s not up to her, is it? IS IT? NOOOOOOO….I’m the boss. Right?
Shit. Hardly.
I am sorta bummed, I won’t lie. I love naptime. As any stay-at-home-mom or daycare provider will tell you, naptime is akin to bliss. It’s that sweet time of every single day where the focus is off of diapers, food, play, kissing boo-boos, wiping pouty tears, and it becomes a wonderful transition into adult time. The best part? It has happened with precise consistency TWICE per day now for almost a year.
I admit it. I’m a routine FREAK. I am, to my detriment, a clock-watcher. I base almost everything on a daily basis on the clock and time everything. The boss wakes up between 7:00am and 8:00 am, naps begin promptly at 10:00am and again between 2:30pm or 3:00pm. Bedtime is between 7:30pm and 8:00pm nightly. J’s naps have always been gloriously long and usually span a two-hour, sometimes longer, time frame.
During these respites, I find myself doing domestic tasks or sitting right here at the computer. I might not be implementing the wonderful things I see on Pinterest, but I’m sure as shit pinning more for the future. Yeah, I cruise Facebook and all other outlets social media-related, but it’s MY time, and the boss is occupied catching zzz’s.
Recently, we traveled to Michigan where J napped beautifully twice per day, in a pack-n-play no less, at least two hours each. We traveled back home and all hell broke loose.
DID I MENTION SHE HAS MORE TEETH NOW THAN I CAN COUNT? She has two brand new molars; four-pointed sharp stars twinkling in her tiny mouth, with yet another one on the pink horizon. This may be grasping at straws, but could that be it? DAMN YOU, TEETH, DAMN YOU. I swear they are flipping me the bird from their cozy gumline.
The only comfort I take during this apparent transition is that when J isn’t interested in napping, she’s interested in hosting a really fun party in her crib. She chatters, giggles, chrips, squeals, and jumps up and down instead of sleeping. She methodically throws every single buddy out of her crib, including her pacifiers, and then stands at her crib peering down at her work. When I go in to hit the reset button, she immediately starts laughing at me.
Sucker. I got you. Again.
Hey, at least she’s not crying and screaming, right?
Naptime is a beautiful, peaceful, coffee-fueled nirvana. And I am sad that half of that time is coming to an end. Yeah, it’s a definite first-world problem, but it’s one I cherish, and I already miss it. A lot.
When I started this post, J was in her crib, chattering. Now, 10 minutes later? She’s silent.
My daughter is so brilliant. She already knows the meaning of the word irony.
