I hate naps.

Oftentimes folks don’t get that.  “How can you hate a state of sleep/unconsciousness?”  It’s very possible when you wake up feeling worse than when you went to sleep.  The nap fairy does not sprinkle sweet, floaty nap dust in my eyes; no, the nap thug comes at me with a set of nap brass knuckles and a pillowcase full of nap boulders and tells me not to mess with Mr. Slumber again.

This is not a recent development:  no, I’ve been fighting the Nap Mafia since I was a wee tyke who’s nickname was “No Nap Gerick.”  Some kids go down for a nap – no fuss.  Some kids fall asleep with their parents sitting in the room.  Some kids fall asleep once threatened with bodily harm.  My folks had to physically pin me down, laying next to me and locking down all my limbs, because if I could so much as squiggle a pinkie, I’d be able to fight off the Dreaded Nap.  Once I was pinned, I’d pass out — but only for about half an hour.  Which I knew was probably the most exciting half an hour of the day, and dang it:  I missed it!  Thus fueling my continued determination not to succumb to the Midday Unconsciousness.
Now that I am a parent, I understand the need for naps:  it wasn’t for my sake that my folks hogtied me – it was for theirs.  Because parents should not have to endure 12+ hours of awake child:  it’s not possible to do that and remain a healthy, sane individual (at least if one has a not-able-to-self-entertain-child).  JJ takes naps:  lovely 2-3 hours of downtime in which I might read or clean the house or take a piddle by my lonesome.  However, like his adorable Osh Kosh blue tennis shoes that I want him to wear foreverandever amen, I think someone’s trying to outgrow something that I love.

Since he’s learned how to climb out of his crib, sleepingtimes have been interesting.  Some in the home believe they are now elective:  I may remain in the crib, or I may get out and play with my legos and go into my parents’ bathroom and spray contact solution on the floor – obviously, it’s my choice.

But. it’s. so. not.  Unfortunately, that whole “choices/consequences” switch hasn’t turned on yet (anyone got a toddler manual that shows how to get that thing turned on faster?  I’ll bake you a big ol’ batch of cookies), so we get to engage in the “let’s put JJ in his crib 8 or 9 times before he falls asleep.”  Such a fun game to play.  At 10:30 at night.  Par-tay.

On Friday, during naptime . . . oh wait:  there was NO naptime.  He never gave in.  I put him in the crib.  Over.  And Over.  And Over.  I kept opening the door and instructing him to “LayDownAndGoToSleepNOW” (drop and give me ten, soldier!).  I took my book into the room, sat on the rocking chair, and gave him the best Hairy Eyeball I could muster.

It didn’t work.

Oh, naps:  how I hate you.  I’m so addicted to the thought of that lucious, childfree downtime in the afternoon; and now that I’m hooked, you’re cutting off my supply.  Apparently I was short in my protection money payment to the Nap Mafia this month.
Shafted by naps again:  fie!

Daily Drivel, Mama Musings