Thought I'd share Nap Strike with you. I wrote it about a year and a half ago and was very excited when it won 2nd place at OWFI this year in Prose Humor. Enjoy!
Nap Strike
I am your pretty typical Type A personality. Anyone who
knows me knows I like a schedule. I make one for just about everything and
follow it to the letter. It’s how I get things done.
So when my beautiful baby girl came along, the first thing I
did was make a schedule. I wrote down every feeding time, nap time, diaper
change time; you name it, I wrote it. Pretty soon, my baby girl had all her
needs met without making a sound. I was on top of things.
Daddy got her up at 6:30 am for early breakfast, and then I
got her up at 8:30 am for late breakfast. At approximately ten am every morning
she’d fall asleep on her play mat and I would fall asleep on the couch. It
worked well for both of us. Everybody was happy and rested.
Then one day she didn’t fall asleep at ten. I lay on the
couch, staring at her, willing her to get sleepy. I couldn’t take a nap unless
she took and a nap and gosh darn it, I needed a nap. My eyes would grow heavy
and just as they closed, she would let out a peep or squeal. Basically any
shrill sound that would alert me to her still being awake.
Reluctantly, I got up and turned on the Wii. If I wasn’t
going to sleep, I should at least get in some “exercise”. When you’re a tired
first time Mommy, playing the Wii is like running a marathon. I convinced myself during an exhilarating
game of Wii Tennis that she would sleep longer in the afternoon and therefore I
would sleep longer in the afternoon and have gotten in a workout.
Baby girl’s brunch and lunch came and went. I daydreamed about
laying my head on the pillow. Again my eyes grew heavy and a pool of drool
started to form in the corner of my mouth when baby girl let out a
blood-chilling scream.
What had I done? I had fallen asleep and now she had been mauled
by a cat, stolen by a zombie or was currently fighting off ninjas. Child
Protective Services was going to come and take her away due to me falling
asleep on the job. I swooped her up, trying to cuddle her tears away. They
transgressed into a small hiccup cry as we walked around the house. Soon she
was sleeping on my shoulder.
I whispered a “thank you” to the big guy upstairs and walked
her quietly to her crib. The minute her butt hit the crib pad her eyes flew
open and the screaming started again. I brought her back up to my shoulder and
examined the crib pad for needles, venomous snakes or hot coals, anything to
justify her terror. Nothing.
We walked around the house again until her soft baby breaths
turned into ones of slumber. Again, I walked to the crib confident she was going
to stay down, but was met with the same result. This time, upon bringing her
back to my shoulder I could tell she was wide awake. She’d had her little cat
nap and was good to go for another four or five hours. I could not say the same
for myself.
I looked at the clock, it was only 2pm. I hoped she would go
down later, but it never happened. By four she was so overtired that even
sitting in the recliner sent her into a tailspin. She acted as if every bottle
was filled with rat poison and my sole purpose on the planet was to make her
life miserable by way of napping.
The minute her dad walked into the house I practically threw
her at him saying, “She’s on strike and so am I.”
This continued for two weeks. I don't know what was more
frustrating, not getting my nap or the way she giggled and cooed at my husband
before gently falling asleep, and staying asleep in his arms. My days were
filled with a cranky, pooping, slobbering monster. Why did he get the snuggles?
During those two weeks I turned into a world class
negotiator. "If you'll sleep for half an hour, Mommy will play horsey with
you. If you'll sleep for just twenty minutes Mommy will take you horseback
riding. If you'll sleep for just ten minutes, I'll buy you a flippin'
pony!"
She was a tough cookie, not cracking even at the thought of
getting a pony. Of course, we did have a language barrier to contend with. If
someone could tell me how to say, "It's just a little nap," in baby
I'll buy them a flippin' pony.
Finally, the day came and once again she fell asleep on her
little pink play mat surrounded by her forest friends. Not wanting to risk a
minute of the slumber, I grabbed my pillow and blanket and dove to the couch.
Hallelujah, a nap!
I lay there enjoying the bliss of a comfy couch, exhausted
to the core, but I couldn't sleep. My body had decided that even though her nap
strike was over, mine had just begun.
