The Nap Gnome

I am convinced that on the days you most need/want your little one to have a nice, long, predictable nap, there is a sneaky little being I will call the Nap Gnome.  And I hate him (or her, to be fair). 

Here's how the Nap Gnome struck today.  We were driving back from a lovely outing to the Children's Museum.  Hannah was clearly tired, but also very involved with her PB&J, so I was confident we could make it home in time.  Torrey and I were planning to go see a movie together, a rare pleasure, so a good nap was essential to keeping the grandparents willing to babysit so we can spend some time alone together.

So then, I made a fatal error, and set out to take 99 to I-90, rather than I-5 to I-90.  Thus, I got caught in HempFest traffic.  My fault?  No, it was the Nap Gnome.  Do not be deceived. 

So I lost a precious fifteen minutes to traffic, then heard the kiss of death: Hannah's sudden and total silence.  I convinced myself she would transfer just fine, in spite of the story that history tells.  So we peaceably drive home and pull into the driveway, a minefield of nap-thwarting obstacles. 

Obstacle # 1 - my father in law was meeting with a plumber about doing some work on the house.  Where?  In the driveway, of course.  I pulled right up to the tips of their toes, practically, and into the middle of their conversation.

Obstacle # 2 - our screechy miniature poodle sees us come home and, as usual, goes completely batshit crazy.  I couldn't sleep through his dramatics if I were on sedatives.

Okay, so by now, Hannah is awake, but I'm just certain I can pull her back into sleep if I scurry inside past any more excitement.  But then she sees grandma, and she wants to play with grandma.  Grandma gets it, though, having been a sleep-worshipping mother, and clears our path to the bedroom as though we were fleeing a mob.

We're on the bed, and Hannah is sleepily asking for "beebie", which I'm certain will lull her back to sleep.  Just as I feel her body start to slacken and ease toward sleep, the damn dog starts whining to get back out of the bedroom that he was whining to get into just seconds before.  Hannah's blue eyes pop open, and she performs her amazing flip-twist, in which she quickly and with near superhuman strength flips from a side-lying position to her knees before I can even hope to convince her otherwise.

Eventually, I lure her back to lying down, having her beebie.  Then grandpa and the plumber walk along the side of the house, right by the window above our bed, which is open.  Repeat above scenario.  Except now she wants to go play, because grandpa is synonymous with play around here.

Round three.  I swear she's almost there, then daddy busts in singing "There's a Dog in School", much to Hannah's delight.  Seriously?  Seriously?!  

Eventually I gave up.  What is it about a missed nap that makes me feel like an abject failure as a parent?  Our plans worked out just fine and she was easy on the grandparents.  At bedtime she basically dove in.  But there is something about that two-hour break in the middle of the day that is so essential for parental sanity, necessary for a child's health and well-being, and yet at times, utterly elusive.

Nap Gnome, you will be defeated tomorrow.  Watch me.  

NOW I Know What Fear Feels Like

I went shopping today with Hannah while having my car serviced, and emerged a new kind of mother: one who thought, for a brief and terrifying moment, that she may have lost her child.

I don't want to be melodramatic here, because the truth is, I knew deep down in my mommy gut that she was somewhere in that store.  But the thought crossed my mind, for a fraction of a second, that maybe I was wrong and she wasn't.  It entered into my consciousness that I could lose my child.

So Hannah is in the dressing room with me while I try on clothes.  Things are going well.  This particular dressing room has curtains instead of doors, and naturally, Hannah chooses the moment I have become topless to make a break for it.  "Hannah, stop please.  Listen to your mama.  Come back here," I say calmly as I hurry to make myself decent.  Then I emerge from the dressing room, confident that I will find her within 10 feet or so.

Instead, I see a store full of people who definitely did NOT see a toddler dashing by, unattended.  I called her name.  Nothing.  She has never hidden from me, and there's really nowhere to hide in this store.  I look back at our dressing room to see her beloved monkey and the doll my mom bought her for Christmas laying on the floor, and I have my moment.  It was a completely internalized moment of indescribable dread.  Did some creep come in off the street and snatch her as I was pulling a shirt on?  Was she so fast that she made it out the front door without anyone noticing?  Oh my god, I think my whole life just changed forever.  This all happened in approximately one half of one second, and only another parent knows just how keenly one can feel something in such a short period of time.

Then, knowing Hannah as I do, I spot the most clearly off-limits part of the store, will myself to keep breathing, and find her quietly heading down the back staircase.  I hurried down to meet her, crouched down in front of her and told her "Hannah, honey, don't ever run away like that again.  Mommy was so scared.  I thought I lost you, and I love you more than anything in the world."  She must have sensed the truth of my fear, because then she made a sad face, said "Mommy" and gave me a bear hug.  Sorry for the melodrama, but I swear my love for her grew exponentially in that moment, when both of us understood that we cannot take each other for granted.  (At least, I assume that's what she understood - it was likely much less profound!)

In the spirit of Bill Maher, I have 3 "New Rules."
1.  New Rule - Unless I can immediately break into a dead sprint after my child, I will strap her down in some fashion.  Monkey backpack/leash/harness thingy, stroller, Ergo, carseat or highchair. 
2.  New Rule - I will call my mom and dad and tell them, again, how sorry I am for doing things like not coming home at night when I was in high school.  I guess that's not really a rule, but still. 
3.  New Rule - I will eliminate distractions when I am with my child, because clearly everything can change in a nanosecond. 

And in case anyone reading this plans to open a retail clothing store, may I suggest childproof dressing room doors?  Please and thank you.