Sometimes at nap time, I slip back into my pajamas and crawl into bed. Now I know, as a responsible mother, I should use this time to be productive by doing some kind of housework, meal-prep or sun salutations on my perpetually unused yoga mat, but some days, it’s all I can do to slide my oversized Mighty Mouse t-shirt over my head, crawl under the covers and watch Frasier reruns.
Because lately, my toddler has decided that instead of taking his usual three hour nap, he’d like to transition to what I like to call an Insanity Nap. You know the kind. It lasts for only about 25-35 minutes, but allows for plenty of time for crib-screaming upon waking and lots of extra grumpy behaviors in the evenings. Oh, and he also decided he’d like to start waking up in the middle of the night again. He’s basically transitioned back into a newborn baby, with the added mobility and affinity for temper tantrums of a 2-year-old.
Needless to say, it’s been a super fun week at our house.
Of course, even as I sit here, staring at the baby monitor light up, alerting me to my crying child (Don’t worry Internet trolls, I’ve gone in to check on him, told him that I love him and have completed all the necessary checklists required by the world wide web to be considered a fit parent.) I am reminded that I am so very lucky to have this time with these two boys. That even though they can drive me to the brink with their incessant questioning of my every move/thought/word/breath or their refusal to eat dinner without spilling 85% on the floor or their complete and total disregard for the sanctity of nap time – I still wouldn’t give up this time for anything in the world. And that is what I tell myself over and over and over again when I feel like my head is actually going to explode.
Which is a real thing I said last night, in front of my children, which prompted my oldest to ask several variations of the question, “Mom, could your head really explode?” And then it did. It exploded. Right there in our living room.
Thankfully my husband was there to pick up the pieces and make sure my brain didn’t stain the couch.
Because that’s what this phase of life is. It’s taking care of our children and each other, when we feel like we cannot possibly function for another moment. And it’s reminding ourselves and each other that this too shall pass and it will get awesome again.
Late last night, way after bedtime, Oliver slunk out of his room and with all the enthusiasm only a 5-year-old trying to avoid sleep can muster said,
“Mom, I am SO annoying! I forgot to ask you where we were going to meet in our dreams!”
I burst out laughing. Explained the difference between ‘annoyed’ and ‘annoying’, told him I’d meet him at the Splash Pad and sent him back to bed.
See? I was right. It does get awesome again.