Today I mourn the loss of an ally of mine, perhaps the greatest savior of my sanity over the last three years: the double afternoon nap. Its death was a slow one. We all saw it coming, and yet we held on. Today, finally, I let go. For the first time in ages, I did not put my three-year-old down for a nap when my one-year-old went down. Farewell, free time. So long, afternoon solitude. Au revoir, uninterrupted blog reading. Adios, sense of self.
My son had been having trouble sleeping at bedtime. He had been lying awake for over an hour, or even getting up out of bed and sneaking around until 10:00. It wasn't like him. He's always been a really good sleeper. I suspected THE NAP, which he had begun to take a bit later and, oddly enough, a bit longer, was the culprit. But I looked for every other excuse. It's the difficult transition of preschool, I said. It's because his daddy was out of town this week, I told myself. Deluding myself was no solution, however. The truth is that he was sleeping too much during the day and then was unable to sleep at night.
So today he stayed up all day and wasn't even exceptionally cranky this evening. Oh, yes, there is hope he will be cranky and begging for a nap tomorrow afternoon. But in my heart, I know what's true: my afternoons will be a bit noisier from now on, filled with more whining and less productivity.
On the other hand, though, I will get my son all to myself, and vice versa, on weekday afternoons. That's nice. I think he needs that one-on-one time with me without his baby sister. Honestly, I enjoyed my son more this afternoon than I have in a long time. He's funny and sweet, and even if I can't read my blogs without interruption anymore, I have to admit he's great company, that kid.
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