Lose a Nap. Lose a Mind.

I know that, as a parent, I will eventually have to learn to let go. My children will grow more and more independent, until one day, I will be waiting, paranoid out of my gourd, for them to come back home after a night out with friends.  *breathing into paper bag*

While I have absolutely no problem letting go of some of their baby-ness (case in point: whining, tantrums, wiping butts), I’m having a tougher time with others.  And, nothing’s harder for me than accepting the disappearance of a nap.

Because that is directly linked to my sanity.

We as parents get accustomed to naps as a break in the day, a time to recharge (nap, snack, sit), clean up the disasters made during wake time (meal-time apocalypse, toy fall-out), go into brain hibernation mode (emailing, internet surfing), or to finally take a moment for personal hygiene (one word: toilet). Okay, who am I kidding? There’s no cleaning.

It seems that as soon as we start getting comfortable and feel like we finally have a grip on things, a child decides he/she is no longer napping.

This is never in proper consultation with the most important people this directly impacts: THE PARENTS. I mean, shouldn’t these important decisions be made together, with all stakeholders?

Because, as Elise is lying on her bedroom floor, stark naked, and howling at the moon, who are the ones to eventually get her dressed in something (anything)?

Because, as she devolves into 1,000 pieces since she gave herself a major wedgie while begrudgingly hiking up her pajama shorts, who are the ones to get her de-wedged and into bed?

Because, HELLO CHILD, methinks you may still need a nap. I don’t know. Just a guess.

The difference between Nap Elise and No-Nap Elise is the difference between child and beast.  I’m pretty sure No-Nap Elise’s head spins around while I’m not looking, only to reattach when I glance her way during another savage scream.

So, yes, I’m having trouble letting go. Of the nap.  And my mind.

Thing is, I like both.