I have two remarkable children who enrich my life in unexpected ways. I live to hear my two-year-old son’s giddy laughter, as well as witness and experience my two-month-old daughter’s smiles and snuggles. I love the fun and folly of schlepping my children through various activities. But, even with all the delights of parenthood, nothing is quite as gratifying as their daily nap. I cherish this time to write, pay bills, complete various household or volunteering tasks, or just binge on chocolate and nap…Mostly I choose binging and sleeping…or watching heinously terrible reality television. I crave this time for myself, so suffice it to say when either child chooses they are anti-nap on any particular day; it has a profound effect on me.
Stage #1: Denial—I won’t openly admit the number of minutes I stare at the monitor with my son standing at the corner of his crib singing to himself. I chant aloud that any minute he will drop to the mattress and float off to dreamland for the couple hours necessary for his evening disposition to be tolerable. Ten, twenty minutes elapse before it becomes obvious that the nap will not happen.
Stage #2: Anger—How is it possible he isn’t immediately succumbing to his unconscious? He must be tired; the kid was out-and-about all morning wreaking havoc in public areas, threatening to burn to the ground several establishments with his unfiltered enthusiasm for anything that might kill him. He fell asleep on the playground swing, and, again, in his car seat on the way home. After his lunch and bath, he barely kept his eyes open, rolling on the floor. What just happened that as soon as I place him in his crib he was signaled to dance around and sing as though auditioning for a cabaret?
Stage #3: Bargaining—I’m not religious, but I promise to any existing deity that I will prance around downtown naked in the middle of a funeral procession for a well respected and significant public figure wearing a plastic glove on my head singing, “I’m a chicken,” if only my son will lie down and sleep for an hour.
Stage #4: Depression—Sadness and hopelessness overtake me that the nap stars haven’t aligned as I so desperately thought and wanted. Exasperatingly tragic that it is the first time in days my daughter is asleep in her playpen and not sprawled and snoring on me; and despite a promising set-up for a hard core snooze, my son prefers to remain awake.
Stage #5: Acceptance—No more delays; time to retrieve the little man from his room. I suppose it could be worse. After all, my daughter is no longer experiencing diarrhea, and with any luck will remain asleep for an hour still, giving me an opportunity to distract my soon-to-be increasingly cranky son with books galore until my husband returns home from work. At that time I have every intention of locking myself in the bathroom with the bar of chocolate that has been waiting patiently all day for my undivided attention.
Please, visit my blog chronicling my parenting trials and tribulations, and take a gander at my Facebook parenting information and social support page. I can also be found on Twitter (@MultipleMommies).