Let it be know, that on the 21st day of the month of November, in the year of our parenting lords, 2014, my eldest son, who’d blessed me with so much sleep time for 39 months, gave up his afternoon nap. I may only express myself through poetry to face my new hell.
There once was a toddler who slept,
And made all his dad’s friends verklempt.
Until that one day,
When the nap went away
Now Dad looks at life with contempt.
Three years, two-hour naps
Now, night sleep evades ‘til ten.
Time to give up: me.
ODE…TO THE VANISHING NAP
Time. Fluid relative.
Once upon a time, my child stirred and I stopped breathing.
Then. A solid year of easy-peasy-breezy sleeping.
The nap: the gnomon of the day.
We revolved, we flowed.
But the shadow was always cast.
Dimmed lights, especially mine.
Indulgent? Necessary? Appreciated? Sans question.
Miraculous how four laundry loads regenerate a spirit.
Reading? Writing? Founding a fortune 500 company?
Icing on a piece of Amy’s bread cake.
Aaaaaaand no tears, no gruff. Just “that’s enough.”
Time to grow up, Daddy.
Time to change minds, Daddy.
Time to join reality, Daddy.
Time to SCREAM AND THROW MY OWN TANTRUM AND TEAR MY HAIR OUT AND BEG AND PLEAD FOR HIM TO PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE JUST GO.