Did I say you could drop nap time, huh, PUNK?!

The boy who loves naps has stopped napping.

He is two-and-a-half. Isn’t that a little early to be dropping his daytime sleep? Not according to a bunch of my friends, whose kids gave up snoozing as early as before their second birthday. THAT’S BESIDES THE POINT!

Jordan has always been a supreme napper! When he was born, he almost never woke up! (His record was five minutes of eyes-open time in an entire 24-hour period) He was possibly the last in my online due date group to drop from three sleeps to two, and then to one. And even when he did, it was usually three hours long! BLISS!!

But then it got a little shorter. Two hours if I was lucky. One and a half.

Now… *sobs*… he just won’t do it!! *Ugly crying* he doesn’t WANT to stay in bed and close those peepers and drift off to the land of nod. He wants to be awake and tired and crazy. Just like me T_T

Why are kids so crazy? I would do anything to have a nap everyday, let alone have the world imploring me to take one. Yet this punk toddler reckons he can do fine without one. Spurns the very opportunity! Sheer MADNESS! How does he not realize what it is he’s giving up?

Playschool is singing “close your eyes… as I sing this lullaby…” while he lies on the couch doing exactly the opposite, and I can’t help but feel like they’re mocking my pain.

Serious question: how do I survive in this new normal, without completely losing my marbles? Or is that just par for the course?

The First Rant

The kids are in bed. My bed, to be specific. I had to make a compromise just to get them to agree with the whole “going to sleep” thing, and that was it: curling up like kittens in the exact spot that I should be occupying. This is what happens when The Husband goes to the football. And how do you think I feel? When we first met, eleven years ago now, he had no interest in football whatsoever. He’d outgrown it or something. Sure, his family were all footy-mad, but had risen above all that bollocks! It suited me fine, since my family had no interest in sports, and consequently, neither did I. Then out of nowhere, more than five years into our relationship, he decides to renew his interest, and suddenly I’ve got this footy-obsessed husband who’d leave me home alone with the kids and a raging case of the flu just so he could see the Grand Final. The nerve of that guy!

In case you’re wondering, I’ve come here to rant. The kids are snoozing like blessed little angels, in contrast to the demons that were tearing through the house just a few short hours ago; the bird is resting in his cage, the dog is asleep under the bed, the guinea pigs… I’m not sure what they’re doing, but they ain’t bothering me! Finally, it is ME time. Only trouble is, it’s nearly 11pm and I just can’t be arsed doing anything. Even flicking on the tube seems like too big a commitment, which’ll wake up one or other of the kids anyway. So I’m here to chronicle my thoughts and feelings: primarily, that my life feels as though it has been sucked into a vortex of mundanity, and I have nothing to look forward to until the kids have grown and moved out of home. (That’s what the older gals in my life tell me, anyway.)

Since I’m here, I might as well set down a resolution: I will no longer allow life to simply swirl about me, tugging me along for the ride, a helpless and hopeless passenger. No! I’m jumping in the driver’s seat, starting now! Life will happen on my terms, or not at all. Scratch that last bit, it sounds a little savage. What I mean is, I want to be more proactive in living out my dreams, my personality. I’m not exactly sure what that will look like, but I’ll report back with my progress.