When you are young a nap is something that you take on a mat in your kindergarten class. When you're a teen it's something you do in the back of science class. When you're a young married couple it's something you do cuddled together on a Sunday afternoon after watching Message is a Bottle on TBS. (lucky)
Well when you're a parent the nap is something completely different. **Warning: if your child exclaims "nap" and proceeds to walk himself upstairs, climbing into his crib, singing himself a song, and falls peacefully to sleep for three wonderful hours, then please stop reading this. As a matter of fact, go poke yourself in the eye, because none of us are happy for you. Keep it to yourself.
Ok back to business, as a parent the nap is an elusive beast that you hunt daily. It's the chubakabra, you believe it exists, seen pictures of it, but each day you are sure you will never quite catch it. I am ready to admit, my name is Danielle an I'm a nap junkie. It's my drug. I spend all morning thinking about J's nap. I plan what I will wash, clean, call, pay, or email. I count the minutes while playing tag and blocks. Don't get me wrong I love playing with my son but I have lots of responsibilities around the house that have to get done too. So I'm glancing at the sink of breakfast dishes knowing they are on the list. Did he just yawn? I think he yawned.
As the time approaches like any junkie, I start to sweat. I pace, jittery across the floor. Is it time, should I do this now? I prep. Blankie - check, room temp - check, curtains drawn - check. This is it I can feel it. Ok, ok don't get too excited, don't get ahead of yourself, he's not asleep yet.
Everything goes as planned. I put him down in the perfect side laying, blankie cuddling, position. I back out of the room like I just stole
something. Stepping over a toy like a security system laser beam. The door clicks shut and I hold my breath. Ah, perfect! Oh the rush, the high, the sheer extacy of one uninterrupted hour of cleaning, calling, eating, maybe showering.
Wait....what - is that guy seriously pulling out the weed whacker again? The weeds are whacked dude, you meticulously whacked them yesterday.
Again, in true junkie fashion I see this man as a threat to my high and for a moment I think of whittling a shank out of J's xylophone stick and maiming him in some way that ensures his weeds can no longer be whacked. Maybe I will set fire to his lawn, you can't mow dirt. Doesn't this guy have a job, is he a stay at home whacker? You're killing me! I contemplate befriending him and turning him onto some hobby like stamp collecting or dungeons and dragons. Something really addicting so that he shirks his lawn care responsibilities and my son can sleep.
And before you know it, I have cleaned, and called, and posted and Jack is up. The junkie has had her fix. No one was injured, though the UPS guy who rang my doorbell came dangerously close to feeling the wrath of mommy. Those brown shorts would have been slightly more brown if he hadn't left the package on the steps and scurried back to his truck. So friends, please don't plan an intervention, because I'm just not ready to quit yet. I'm sure the 12 step program is wonderful, but I'm too deep in the lifestyle to turn back now.