My toddler still takes two naps a day. Thank Pete.
(Who is Pete, by the way, and how did he become a substitute for God? Must’ve had an amazing resume to fill in for the Almighty Him. Or Her. I’m not delving into a religious rant right now. Cue up Joan Osborne’s What if Godddd was one of usss? Done.)
Anyway. My sanity is dependent upon every last scrap of a second that my baby spends peacefully in his crib.
Now, my parents have what we refer to as a Sensory Deprivation Chamber. Kellan easily crashes for multiple hours at a time at their house. I’m pretty sure I slept an entire year of my life away in the chamber, post grad school. Happily, I might add. I went to bed the night before my 24th birthday and woke up 25. The room has the same affect as the 1986 classic, “Flight of the Navigator”, starring a Fred Savage look-alike. Google and/or Netflix it. Creeped the bejesus out of me as a kid. The teachers popped that science fiction shit in whenever they had had enough of our shenanigans in grade school and wanted to subtly threaten us with alien abduction. I shouldn’t say “our” shenanigans I was – am – an extreme goodie two shoes. To a fault. But that’s another post. Come find me on a rainy day. Or when Facebook breaks.
Back to my nap story.
At my house, Kellan’s room doesn’t have block-out blinds or the quiet hush ubiquitous in suburbia. We in da city, yo, (sorry, my gangsta rap smells of preppy, white girl.) where a cacophony of noise pollutants contribute to his sleep-boycotting and early wake-ups.
What’s that you say? I can’t use “da” and “cacophony” in the same sentence? Um. Yes. Yes, I can. This is my blog you’re reading. I make the rules, snitches! Again, pathetic white girl slang.
The following is how naptime nuisances make me feel. Literally, this is what crosses my brain when I hear potential sleeping baby disturbances. I’m serious. I wrote them down yesterday as it was all unfolding. As my blood pressure was surging like a hot spring through the roof.
Here’s your dose of unadulterated insanity.
If the wind blows and whistles again, I swear to Gawd I will go outside and sucker punch it.
If another neighbor shouts to someone down the street from their driveway, I’m marching out my front door with a baseball bat and a lacrosse stick. Not sure which will batter better (how about that wordplay?!), so I’m bringing both.
If another dog barks, I’m gluing its hairy jaws shut with super glue.
If my own dog starts tap dancing and trip-traipsing around I’ll hoist all 65.5lbs of his slobbering flesh up into my front pack and cart him around like a newborn baby, furry limbs dangling off my chest. (And yeah, his nails are getting long again. He’s overdue for his latest vet appointment. Sorry Moe, you’re neglected, pal. Buy your own damn pair of nail clippers and do it yourself. While you’re at it, pick up a hanky to catch all that drool and some Beano so the rest of the family can breathe at night.)
If another car honks, I’m lurching my body into the road and smashing their windshield with my forehead.
If anyone so much as breathes near my house, even anywhere on my block, let’s face it, anywhere on this earth, during naptime, I’ll file a restraining order after I snap their neck.
I. NEED. THIS. NAP.
And maybe a session or eight of anger management counseling? Nahhh.