Jamie was startled awake by the sound of the door creaking. It was 2 p.m. on a Saturday, and instead of folding laundry, I had succumbed to the allure of a cozy bed.
“What on earth?!” she exclaimed. “Why do you get to nap?”
“I’m not napping,” I replied, my voice muffled by the pillow. “I just kind of… fell over. The bed was too comfortable to resist.”
My attempt at humor didn’t land.
“I need a nap,” she said, a hint of frustration in her tone.
“Then go take one,” I suggested, though it came out more like a grunt.
“We don’t have time for that,” she replied, emphasizing the “we.” “Tristan has a soccer game in 20 minutes, and after that, we need to pick up soil for the backyard before the nursery closes.”
With that, she stormed out, and guilt washed over me. We have three children under the age of nine, and getting them all to sleep for more than five hours feels like trying to align planets in the sky—possible, but rare. One child will wake up thirsty at 10 p.m., while another has a nightmare by midnight. And then there’s little Ava, our one-year-old, who is up late fussing and then bright-eyed at dawn. My caffeine intake has reached alarming levels.
Our lives are chaotic. I work full-time, and Jamie is a full-time mom and a part-time student. There’s always something in the house that needs fixing or cleaning. The older kids are involved in sports and other activities that consume our weekends. It’s exhilarating but utterly tiring, leaving little room for naps.
Sleep has become a source of tension, a coveted item that can be exchanged for favors ranging from chores to intimacy. If you ask Jamie what she wants for her birthday, she’ll say sleep. I echo the sentiment.
We could try to ignore our obligations and just sleep, but parenting demands constant attention. Kids never stop needing or wanting something, and with our eldest old enough to babysit, I still don’t fully trust him with the younger ones, especially Ava.
Napping can only happen if one parent oversees the kids while the other rests. This dynamic creates a sense of resentment for the parent left awake, who feels slighted by the other sleeping away in comfort—unless, of course, there’s an arrangement.
Just the weekend before Jamie caught me napping instead of doing laundry, I was outside pulling weeds when she approached, sharing the struggles of her sleepless night with Ava. “If you let me nap, we can have a little fun later,” she proposed.
We negotiated for a bit, finally settling on a plan: she would take a nap while I took all three kids to the soccer game, and then I could nap while she took them to the store later. It wasn’t ideal—taking three kids to a soccer game sounded like a nightmare, and I knew she felt the same about going to the store—but the prospect of a nap made it worthwhile.
After shaking on the deal, Jamie quipped, “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
“Likewise,” I replied.
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In conclusion, sleep is no longer just a luxury; it’s a critical currency in our marriage. Balancing the demands of parenting and personal needs often requires negotiation, understanding, and a bit of humor.