Baby belly

Yesterday, as I was reading a story about the challenges of friendship to my son, he pointed to my stomach and said, "baby." I thought, wow, I really need to get in shape. He then pointed to his own little round belly and said, "baby." That made me feel better.

Sleeping beauty

I had been warned for some time now but still persisted in the delusion that it would last forever. No, not me, thought I. It will happen to the neighbour and the friend across town, but not to us, not in our house.

Well, isn't there a saying about being the last to know and the hardest to fall, something about vainglorious pride, flying too close to the sun and getting your just desserts?

My son has stopped napping. Over two glorious years of napping has come crashing to an end. And no amount of yelling and door-slamming and threatening (always helpful when you are trying to encourage someone to fall asleep) on my part has stemmed the tide of crinkle-eyed giggling, sock-removing, joyful tumbling and rumbling, silly song singing, pure awakeness from coming into my home.

After my threats and yelling were exhausted, I tried more traditional ways of helping my son fall asleep in the afternoon: lying down with him for hours, reading stories for hours, rubbing his back for hours, leaving him alone in his room for hours, all to no avail. Something has clicked in his growing biochemical soup of hormones, and that something says, "NO MORE DODO!"

I did have a good run though. Two sometimes three hours of naptime meant hours of alone time for me. I started and finished books during naps. I wrote blogs (ahem). I caught up on my internet browsing (it is always important to know the habits of slutty teens). I sometimes (rarely) cleaned the house. I wrote letters and formulated ideas for articles. I drank tea and was alone with my thoughts. I stared at the tree outside that I have yet to identify. I had time to wonder about the tree's identity.

Sigh. Them days are gone. I know it rationally but I am having some difficulty adjusting. At around 2 o'clock I look at my son, hoping for signs of fatigue. By 3 I usually give up and take him to the park, where he will promptly fall asleep in the stroller and I will have forgotten to bring a book (arrggghh).

Ah yes, this is another aspect to the non-napping child. Put him into any moving vehicle, stroller, car, tug-boat, submarine, and he is immediately comatose, no matter how inconvenient it is to the boat captain, driver or stroller-pusher.

But, you cry, AM, it is mid-afternoon and this post is wordy to say the least. Yes, you're right. After yelling, cajoling, whining and bribing, I managed to get my son to sleep by playing dead. Exhausted from kicking and pummeling me to wake me, he fell asleep. Victory is mine! If however short lived. If however temporary.