Nap Time



Yesterday would have been a great day for a nap. It was 4 p.m. on a nice, quiet Sunday afternoon. I took a long hot shower, Jeffrey was still out refereeing a football game (will be discussed in a future blog), and I had no need to shop or cook for dinner (going to my sister-in-laws). I was looking at a good 2 hours of free time with no real motivation to do anything useful (i.e. Closet cleaning, laundry, bill paying) and my bed was looking prime for a nap.  To clarify, when I nap, I am a bed napper; not on a couch or a reclining chair. If I'm getting shut-eye (even in the afternoon), it's in my bed and under the covers. I won't turn on the TV and hope and pray the phone doesn't ring. But, alas I did not slumber. I was first distracted by my iPad, which leads to responding to Facebook messages, which leads to checking emails, which slips into recreational on-line shopping. At that point, I was down to a potential 45-minutes for sleep, and for me, that is a “nap tease.” Some people can take the “power nap”, restored and refreshed in 20-30 minutes, but not me. If I have less than an hour I’m still tired and more than an hour and a half, I’m groggy and done for the day. I used to be better at finding the perfect window of opportunity, but lately I am failing at all attempts at a siesta.

I don't remember being much of a napper when I was a kid, seemed like punishment back then (talk about hindsight being 20/20).I'm sure the stubborn (but otherwise perfect) child that I was, I would fight sleep just to prove to my parents wrong. In the summer camp years, I think "rest hour" was supposed to be pseudo nap time, or digest lunch time or write home to your parent’s time. I most certainly spent the duration talking, did not have much lunch to digest (tiny back then) and I doubt much correspondence went home. College rest time was more about sleeping till noon or banking a few hours sleep before we stayed out all night; more about recovery and prep than getting any needed rest. The pregnancy years were made for lying down. Any chance I got, I was in bed. Even my doctor told me that I should take advantage while I could, “probably won’t sleep much for the next 18 years” (apparently he was telling me the truth – and underestimated the timeframe). If I was smart I would have hibernated for the entire 9 months (well more like 10 in Jill gestation). I’d still be catching up, but it would have given me a head start.

When the kids were babies it was fairly easy; they sleep, I sleep. They were reliable 3 hour infants in the afternoon, and if they didn’t want to cooperate I had my methods (not Benadryl, stop assuming). The usual choice was the “drive around until their head tilts in the car seat”, and I’m good to go. Some trips were longer than others, I tried not to cross county lines, but we covered a lot of neighborhoods. The pacifier was an excellent sleep aid and I made sure to have multiples on hand in case one landed on the floor of the back seat (not so much for the cleanliness factor, just hard to grope around and find it while driving, easier to pop in another one).I know dentists and parenting purists everywhere are now criticizing my binky dependence, but it was cute and it worked. Think little Maggie Simpson, how adorable is her little plugged mouth? Luckily, my boys were all easy transfers from car to crib and I was parallel moments later for a few hours of blissful dozing. If I wasn’t in the mood for a leisurely drive or it was dark or rainy, there was always the baby swing. Punish me now, but load that swing, turn on the motor (it was next to my bed – I’m not a perfect parent, but I maintained visual contact) and the ZZZ’s were practically instantaneous. Of course the old standby, surefire, sleepy time approach is “lie down next to mommy and watch a video.” I always fell asleep, not 100% sure about them, but they didn’t bother me. Even now, if a vintage Sesame Street tape (back in the days of the VCR) is played anywhere in my proximity I will immediately begin singing along (“C is for Cookie, that’s good enough for me”). I am an expert in all things Ninja Turtles (teenage mutant to be exact). Donatello, Raphael, Leonardo and Michelangelo reigned supreme in my house for many years. I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the beloved purple Dinosaur, Barney, because “I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family." I have just clearly demonstrated how long ago I raised toddler males. Of course, while I was just singing that song out loud I had the best baby flashback ever; almost better than putting them to sleep was when they woke up; there is nothing quite like a half-awake baby lying on your shoulder. Their skin is warm and little damp curls of hair stick to their forehead, they smell like baby shampoo (maybe a little pee) and even better in the summer with a hint of sunscreen. Still too sleepy to move, those few precious minutes are indescribable. Then, they realize they are hungry or wet or both and the piercing cry snaps you right back to reality. As they got older, I did not need to drive them around to encourage sleep. Although, much like the early years, sometimes it seems they wake up just to pee and eat.

Well, I wish I had been successful yesterday, because I would have been better prepared for today. I was just notified via Facebook that at least one person out there is anxiously awaiting today’s episode of my journey – having “withdrawals” I might add (Thanks for noticing DSM). I have come to the conclusion, that unless I can kick the iPad addiction (not likely) or my DVR stops working (there is always an episode or two of Real Housewives I need to watch) I will not be taking forty mid-day winks anytime soon.