Quick! Alert the Authorities! My Son Has the Worst Mother EVER!
Alright, I know I’m being dramatic. Most of the time, I feel like a fairly competent parent. But at least three times a day, I feel like I suck. Those times? Um, naptime, naptime, and naptime. Putting Bugga in for a nap is, well, the worst. All the experts and their fancy books tell you to create a routine; routines are comforting. Oh sure, routines are comforting in theory. Unless, of course, your kid passionately despises naptime and catches on to any sadistic routine you might try to impose. I kid you not…he starts whimpering when I shut his shades. I turn on the Sleep Sheep and we hit full-scale crying. I’ve had to switch up the kid’s routine more times than I care to count (sort of defeats the whole routine thing). And the crying — oh, the crying. Bugga has a heinous cry that sounds something like this: “You are the worst mother ever and if I could trade you in, I would! Now get me out of this damn crib before I call DSS, woman.” Oh yeah, that’s comforting.
So I know right now you’re trying to think up solutions to the naptime dilemma. Stop. I’ve heard and read every last bit of sage advice. And none of these little tidbits works with my little monkey. And if hear one more time that he should be taking two two-hour naps, I might just lop someone’s head off. My kid never took two-hour naps. Never, I tell you. Well, maybe he did in a former life. Didn’t he take two-hour naps as a newborn? Um, no. Really? No. You see, Boo Boo isn’t really interested in shoulds. He’s more interested in Boo Boo. So yeah, I’m not interested in another “Well, I did this with my [son/daughter/fill in the name], and it really worked.” Or another “You should really [fill in the blank].” I mean seriously, when your own mother and mother-in-law are at a loss for how to get this bugger to nap, you pretty much know you’re screwed right there.
And these naps I speak of? I might as well call them pseudo-naps. They last for like thirty minutes. I listen to that scream just to get thirty minutes three times a day, and on a day like today, only twice. So is it really worth the aggravation? Damned if I know. I just know the alternative is a complete meltdown. I’m not sure which is worse. I often make an effort to remind myself of his endearing qualities — like how he shows his excitement through his entire body or giggles like a maniac when tickled. These things almost make up for the naptime madness. And I’m lucky — so very lucky — that the kid has no memory, that just as soon as he’s ready to ring the authorities, he’ll flash a charming little grin and make it all okay. For both of us.