The Epic Nap Battle

Ahh, naps. New mothers long for them, babies resist them. We could all use more of them. And this past week, my eight-month-old son and I engaged in several nap battles that can only be described as epic.

Most of the time, my little blonde munchkin goes down for a nap without too much difficulty. Most of the time. But when I need him to sleep, when I really, really need him to sleep, he will resist defeat like a prize fighter.

It goes like this. It’s his regular naptime, and he is yawning and obviously tired. I nurse him, give him a cuddle and a lullaby, and put him in his crib. The curtains are drawn, the white noise is playing, and he is awake but sleepy. This is textbook nap routine perfection. I give him a kiss and go downstairs to make my lunch. He coos and plays for a while. If he were a perfect baby, he would just drift off into a pleasant sleep. But he isn’t, and he doesn’t. He starts to cry. I set down my fork and trudge up the stairs. Replace the soother. Pat the bum. Shhh, shhh, shhh. He closes his eyes and falls asleep. I walk away

I have just taken a mouthful of salad when he starts to cry. I wait. Is he serious, or just whimpering? The cries escalate to wails. He’s serious. I drag myself back up the stairs. Replace the soother, pat the bum, shhh, shhh, shhh. This pattern repeats, three, four, five times. Well, at least the stair runs are giving me some exercise.

Now the cries have escalated into full-scale screaming. I lean into the crib to wrap my arms around his little body without picking him up. My entire torso is in the crib now, the crib rails jammed into my stomach, my cheek pressed against his tiny face so I can shush into his ear. This is a truly painful feat, made possible by contortions that even my yoga teacher would protest. He calms down. My back starts to spasm. His eyes close and I wait, hoping this is the end, wondering how I’m going to extract myself from the crib.

He wails.

I give in and pick him up – tactical error number one. Maybe now he is tired enough to nurse, or maybe a lullaby will work. But as soon as I pick him up, the little stinker breaks into a beaming smile and tries to do a back flip off my lap. Score one for the baby. Mommy has been tricked. He opens his mouth in a wide grin and attempts to eat my nose.

Shhh, shhh, shhh, baby. It’s nap time, baby. Time to sleep, baby.

I try to cuddle him in the rocking chair. He tries to eat my face. He starts to giggle, so I start to giggle – tactical error number two. If I laugh, this battle is over. I try to look stern. I give him my best “mommy is very serious” face. I must convince him that this is not playtime. I put him back in the crib.

He wails.

Replace the soother. Pat the bum. Shhh, shhh, shhh. Repeat.

At this point, you are probably all wondering why I don’t just give up. But no, my friends, this tired mommy never gives up. Because I know that he is exhausted, and I know that if he doesn’t get his afternoon nap, we will all have a terrible sleep that night. And I know that if he doesn’t nap, then I can’t nap. So I dig deep. I persevere. Soother in. Pat the bum. Repeat.

Finally, finally, he gives in and falls asleep. I lean into the crib for five excruciating minutes, my body bent at a 45-degree angle, one hand on his back, the other on his head. I’m afraid to move. Is he really asleep? He is. I silently rejoice. I might even do a victory dance, but my back has seized up. I look at my watch and realize that this particular nap battle has taken an entire hour. My soup is cold, my salad is wilted, and wet laundry is fermenting in the washer. But I won. And that’s what matters.

I collapse into my own bed, desperate for a nap after all that stair climbing and bum patting.

I am just drifting off to sleep when he wakes up.