Nap Time

I gently place my oldest son in his crib, which now seems comically small compared to how tall he is now. His feet stretch all the way down the crib. He still has several inches to go before he outgrows it. Still. The sight of him stretched out makes him look like a fourth grader, not an 18 month old. He opens his eyes and looks up at me. Crap. 

“Bye baby. It’s nap time. I’ll see you in a couple hours. Hug your bunny and go night night,” I say as I slowly back out of the room. 

He mumbles “bye bye” before hugging his small stuffed bunny and turning over on his stomach to go to sleep. I let out a sigh, relieved. 

However, shutting the door to his room meant I could now hear my four week old crying in his bassinet downstairs. I grab the baby monitor to my oldest son’s room and quietly, but very quickly, run down the stairs. Thank god for whoever invented sound machines or my oldest would not be able to nap over the sound of my youngest giving his little lungs and new found voice a workout. For someone that’s just been in the world for four weeks, he can really make some noise. 

I scoop him up and lightly bounce him while I get a snack and water bottle. We settle down in the living room and I grab our Boppy pillow. Did he nurse on the left or the right last time? I shrug. Oh well. If I haven’t had mastitis yet, I highly doubt this is what will do me in. 

His screams subside as he latches on and his soft suckling noises and gentle swallowing start. I grab my phone and start scrolling. Tik tok. Instagram. Facebook. It’s hard to sit and nurse a baby and not do anything else. 

After about 15 minutes, I switch sides. I have the routine down at this point. I check the monitor and my other son is fast asleep. After a few minutes of the baby eating, his eyes get heavy and he starts to slowly fall asleep. I struggle to contain my excitement. Okay. Relax. There’s no way. No way they are both about to nap at the same time. There’s just no way. I repeat this over and over again. 

I have a bad habit of getting my hopes up and thinking I’ll be able to nap myself or maybe even have time to make a cup of tea. I wait one minute. Then two. Then three. I gently put a hand under his head and the other under his tiny body and scoop him up. His eyes flutter slightly but he doesn’t wake up. This is it. He’s gonna sleep. It’s finally happening. They’ll be asleep at the same time. 

I gently and slowly place him in the bassinet. Feet first. Then his tush. Then his head. I gently rock the bassinet before slowly backing away. I’m in shock. I stand still staring at him for a minute. He’s slept alone in his bassinet during the day before but NEVER when his brother is sleeping. I check my phone. I have 90 minutes before I have to wake up the oldest. 90 minutes. Well. That’s 90 minutes IF neither of them wake up. 

I glance at the couch with my favorite blanket draped on it. I only slept about three hours the night before. And it wasn’t a 3 hour block. That’s right. It was three, one hour sessions of sleeping. Definitely not ideal for a new mom, or really any person anywhere ever. I turn out the light and quietly lay down. My first nap in weeks. What if I’m about to sleep and one of them wakes up? I try to push this question out of my mind over and over again. That has to be one of the worst feelings. Being so sleep deprived and physically and emotionally exhausted, laying down to sleep and right when you’re about to sleep, the baby wakes up. I try to breathe through those thoughts of potentially being woken up. I close my eyes and take deep breaths to relax. All you’ve wanted for days is a nap. Just do it. Nap. Fall asleep. 

Time ticks by and I roll over to my other side and put the blanket over my eyes to block out the light coming in from the window. Nope. I roll back over. I let out a big sigh. I check my phone. I’ve wasted 16 minutes trying to get comfortable and fall asleep. It would take me about 20 minutes to fall asleep at this point, then I would really only be asleep for 40-60 minutes. I sit up on the couch feeling defeated. I look around at our messy living room. Toys cover the carpet

I don’t even want to go look at the kitchen. Unless it magically cleaned itself since I washed one bottle an hour ago, it still looked like a disaster zone. My husband wouldn’t be home from work for about another hour. I could clean. I grimace at the thought.

Before I know it, I’m on my feet, very carefully and very quietly picking up toys by the armful and gently placing each toy in the basket. One wrong move and that electronic dancing penguin at the bottom of the basket will burst into song and wake my sleeping boys and quite possibly the next door neighbors. Can’t thank my parents enough for that wonderful Christmas gift that just keeps on giving.

The toys are put away. I start to gather the books, my least favorite chore of all. No matter how tight I squeeze them in the bookshelf, my toddler manages to pull all the books out. He does like to read, well pretend to read, and be read to. His main goal it seems is to just distribute the books throughout the living room. He makes sure that they’re just far enough apart that I can’t bend down once and pick up a few. I have to continuously bend down and collect each book separately, until I’m wiping the sweat off my brow and rubbing my back, grimacing in pain. I would be lying if I said I didn’t consider getting rid of all the books. What kind of mother would I be if I did that? Stunt his learning just so I don’t have to pick up the same books. Every. Single. Day. I was considering it again. I manage to get the last book on the shelf. 

I fold the blankets and put the throw pillows back on the couch. I pretend to not notice that one of the pillows is clearly wet with a green liquid, probably that broccoli apple puree he wouldn’t eat earlier. I couldn’t blame him for that. I don’t think I’d eat it if I was paid. Moving on, I empty out the diaper pail and replace the changing cover, which was much needed after a blowout I couldn't have imagined in my wildest nightmares, interrupted our TV time after lunch. 

Moving from the living room, I pass the dining room and almost quit then and there. Just to get to the kitchen I have to pass the dining room table that is currently piled high with bits of trash and random household items. I gather the trash and go to throw it away, but the trash can is full. Wonderful. I take a deep breath in and slowly exhale. 

I bag up the trash. Great, it’s Tuesday. Trash day is tomorrow. I make my way to both the bathrooms and gather the trash from each room before placing it by the back door for my husband to take to the trash bin. 

I begin to tackle the dishes in the sink. It’s easiest to just unload and load the dishwasher first, and then work on cleaning and sanitizing bottles and pump parts. I unload and load the dishwasher with ease. I mean come on, I’m basically a pro at this point. 

I then start on the bottles. Soaping and scrubbing. Rinse. Place in the sanitizer that goes in the microwave. Repeat. By the time I’m nearing the end of the plastic washing fiasco, my hands are cramping and I’m shifting my weight from foot to foot, looking forward to sitting down. I place the sanitizer in the microwave with about an inch of water in it before setting it to two minutes.

I open the laundry room door and move the laundry I started hours ago, from the washer to the dryer. I grab the broom and start going to town in the kitchen, then the dining room.

My lower back is wet from sweating and I’m sure my cheeks are flushed and my hair is frizzing out, but I don't stop. It’s not like I looked all that great at the start of all this. I make my way all the way to the living room and sweep the floor around the rug.

I check my phone, I need to wake my eldest up in about 10 minutes and my husband will be pulling in front of the house any minute. I check on the baby and he’s moved slightly but is still fast asleep. I grab the lasagna that I put together the night before, out of the fridge and preheat the oven. 

I go to sit down and I hear the familiar chatter of a toddler through the monitor. I look at the screen and sure enough, he’s holding his bunny and babbling to him. 

I head up the stairs and knock on the door before I poke my head in.

“Mama, mama, mama, mama,” He starts chanting to me and starts hopping with his bunny.

“Hi Bruno, hi Bunny, how was your nap?” I ask picking him up out of the crib.

“Teta, teta, teta,” he starts demanding (Teta is Spanish for milk/bottle). 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you milk. Let’s go downstairs,” I hold his hand and we start counting the stairs one by one until we reach the bottom. I hear the back door open, and my son yanks his hand out of mine to go greet his father.

“Dada, dada, dada, teta, teta,” he runs around the kitchen, unable to contain his excitement at being awake and seeing his Dad. 

“Hi little monster,” my husband scoops him up easier than I can, now that he weighs 30 pounds. He leans over and kisses my cheek. “Hi babe, how was your day?” He asks tickling our son.

“The boys napped at the same time for the first time ever today,” I say. My husband grins.

“That’s great! Did you get a nap?” He wonders, setting our son down and taking off his coat.

“No, I couldn't sleep so I cleaned everything and caught up on laundry. The lasagna is ready to go in the oven,” I add moving towards the stove.

“That’s good babe, I’m glad you finally got some free time,” he says cheerfully, patting me on the shoulder. I can feel my right eye twitch in irritation. Yes. What a wonderful two hours of free time I’ve had.