My daughter is at that stage now where I fear that any day she’ll resist naps all together. She’ll be 4 in May, and while I realize that this is normal for this age, I still dread the day the naps go away. Or panicked. Take your pick.
Granted, right now we’re back in the nap groove. She’s actually been asking to take a nap. As in “Mommy, let’s go up and read books so I can go to sleep.”
Mind. Blown.
And I will take this for all it’s worth. Just a mere month ago she was begging to be able to stay up all day, every day. The Party Girl.
Surprisingly, these naps haven’t left her bedtime a total disaster. She ebbs and flows with this. Sometimes a hearty nap will result in an hour of Jack-In-The-Box door opening at bedtime. But not lately. Perhaps it’s a growth spurt. But let’s not tempt fate by trying to figure out why we’re in a zone, shall we?
But I know it’s coming. My son napped all the way until Kindergarten, when he went in the afternoon. By that point, it seemed cruel to then ask him to take a nap on the weekends, after he had spent all that time during the week trying to adjust.
Sure, “quiet time” is still an option once a nap disappears. But, c’mon, how successful is that?
With my son, we set a timer and told him he couldn’t come out and bug us until the timer went off. Yet, he would still come out every 10 minutes or so and question why his timer hadn’t gone off yet. Didn’t I know how to work a clock? I must have been doing it wrong! There’s no way 45 minutes could be that long!
And so, I wait. I wait for her naps to become discombobulated. For them to fall apart. For me to lose that time during the day to regroup.
She is the last kid we’ll have. This is the last nap left. After she shuns her naps, the day will be one long, high-speed bullet train to bedtime.
So, yes. I will miss the time to myself. I will miss being able to pay bills, write emails, work, clean, poop in private without having to keep a small child occupied. I will dread the transition that may result in overtiredness, meltdowns, and the She-Devil that emerges after five consecutive days of sleep deprivation (her, and me).
But I will also miss something much sweeter.
The best part of my day is waking my sleeping daughter from her afternoon nap.
I know, that’s crazy talk, right? But hear me out.
My daughter has been napping hard lately. And I usually have to wake her up to be able to get her brother from school. The walk upstairs is a weird mix of saying goodbye to My time and happy anticipation of what awaits.
When I open the door, I’m hit with the tranquility of slumber and an orchestra of white noise machines. She’s out like a light. Sometimes clothed, sometimes not. Her body sprawled out in ways that would make a Yogi proud.
I crawl in bed with her and soak in her warmth. Sleeping is hard work. The hair around her neck is slightly damp, and I inhale the sweet, sweaty smell of deep sleep.
It takes her a while to open her eyes. As she fights to stay asleep, her body burrows in to mine, her mouth sucking her thumb fervently as if that could shut out the world.
We lay like this for a while, and then the ritual begins. She pretends to still be asleep as I tickle her. And, man, is she a fantastic actress. It’s only when she can’t take it anymore that her eyes pop open and she says hello to the afternoon.
I won’t ever get this back once it’s gone.
Sure, there will be mornings left. But mornings are tricky. Her sleep isn’t as deep, she wakes easier, and the rush of school makes the whole process speedy and quick.
For now, I savor every nap. Relish in the 1.5 hours of quiet catching up. Cherish every warm cuddle with my sleeping girl.
This walk upstairs to wake her is a roulette wheel. I’ll I never know when the last time I’ll get to wake her will be until it’s already happened.
I always feel kind of melancholy too, when a stage comes to an end… So I tell myself it’s also the beginning of something new.
Melancholic. That’s it exactly. And yes, I’m sure it will be great not to be tied down to the house once we’re through with the tornado of nap transition. But it’s hard to see that yet. And hey, did you start a new blog?
My son is also coming up on 4 and getting rid of his naps too
He doesn’t usually fall asleep any more, but when he does, I know exactly what you mean–the wake-up part is so sweet!
I know, it’s a weird phase. And I’m sure I’m also not wanting to let go of my baby, in a way!
Such a sweet post, Gina. You really took me there with the sounds, sights and feel of your warm little girl. It is strange how we remember vividly when something began, but the end feels like it came without warning and left us sensing that something irretrievable was taken from us…
Thanks, Keesha. It’s one of those experiences I will feel the weight of once it’s gone. And then, Boom. She’ll be a big girl. And asking for the car keys.
Wonderful post! This you wrote – “I won’t ever get this back once it’s gone” – so powerful and true. I have to tell myself that all the time when I get stressed or things get hectic.
Thanks! I know, Debbie, it’s so easy to get lost in the temporal aspect of parenting when you’re in the thick of it. My husband is better at appreciating the present than I am. It just seems like I try to pretend they’re older one minute, but then mourn the fact that they’re growing up the next.
My kids were never great nappers, but as teenagers-man, can they sleep! I miss those toddler days sometimes, but I still love waking up my sleeping boy!
Is he old enough to have stinky breath? My son is 6 now, and he just pops up to sitting when I crawl in to cuddle. He’s moved on past that phase, which makes me a bit sad. But at least I’ve got my little cuddle bug for a bit longer…