This post was written after a nap. What? I’m pregnant.
One of the truly awesome things about my son is that he is usually a really good sleeper, at least at night. He typically gets to bed around 8:30 pm and stays asleep until roughly 7:30 in the morning. If he goes to bed a little later, he sleeps a little later. He’s had a few nightmares lately, but as soon as I’ve assured him that his scary dreams aren’t coming true, he goes back to sleep for the rest of the night and usually sleeps in a little.
Naps have been more of a struggle. He had been taking about hour-and-a-half long naps, but for the past few months or so, it’s only been 50 percent of the time, sometimes less. Some days, like yesterday, he is truly exhausted and actually takes a nap after some stalling.
Last night was not a usual night. We went out to dinner for Daddy’s “real” birthday (my parents couldn’t do dinner last night, so they took us out Friday). His birthday restaurant was at Easton. For those of you not from Central Ohio, it’s a mostly outdoor mall that is fun to walk around and window-shop when the weather is nice. And window-shop we did. We first went to the Lego store, at my son’s request, although my husband and I found a good deal of sets to geek out about. They have really neat displays all over the store, and sell sets of people and blocks that you can put together yourself for a completely customized set of Legos, sold by the container. We then spent a good deal of time in Brookstone, checking out the Tempur-Pedic beds and massage chairs and nifty little gadgets. They had the Glee! soundtrack from this season playing in one display area, so quite a while passed before I realized it was past somebody’s bedtime.
It was a late night, and by the time he fell asleep it was probably after 10:15. Way too late for my liking, but time flies when you’re having fun, and it was nice to spend time together as a family. I figured he’d probably sleep until 9 or maybe 9:30 if we were lucky.
We were not.
I heard him open his door, tried to pretend I hadn’t, and repositioned my arm so it looked like I was still fast asleep. Not that pretending to be asleep has ever worked on my son. And boy was he awake. He greeted me – not my husband, mind you – with “Mommy, let’s go downstairs.” With a good deal of effort, I forced my eyelids to open and turned to look at the clock.
I know I should count myself as extremely lucky, considering he sleeps very well most nights and sleeps in most mornings, comparatively speaking. But 8 hours? That’s not right. For a three-year-old.
And did he nap today? No. Of course not. So he’s walking around like a zombie, cleaning up some toys, while Mommy sulks.