You’ve probably heard the saying, “Sleep when the baby sleeps,” but I’m guessing you’re not quite familiar with it yet—you’re only four months old, after all. But trust me, as your mother, this is the advice everyone throws around.
Now, about this 32-minute “nap” you’ve been pulling off. It’s hardly conducive to any real rest for me. I’m not one of those people who can just shut my eyes and drift off in an instant—that’s your dad’s specialty. My brain takes about 31 minutes to wander through thoughts of dinner plans, the challenge of removing permanent marker from your sister’s artwork, and some questionable choices from my college days. That leaves me with a mere 60 seconds before you awaken. Yes, I was an English major, but that’s your first math lesson.
On second thought, forget about sleep. Once you finally fall into Baby Dreamland, I have a long list of things to do. Let the dog out. Take a shower. Sanitize your teething toys, the floor, and any surfaces that have been hit by spit-up. At some point, I really need to eat something that’s not just cheese slices, and I also need to tackle those eight loads of laundry piling up on the bed. So, how about I ask for 90 minutes? An hour, even?
I know every baby is unique, but your sister used to nap for two hours at a time, anywhere. When we decided to have a second child, we were kind of hoping for a similar experience. Back then, we thought, “This is manageable!” Foolish us. According to the parenting manual, you’re only allowed one child who sleeps well—look it up, it’s in there—and our quota has clearly been filled.
When those dark circles first appeared under my eyes, some well-meaning folks suggested I was doing something wrong. “He should have a routine by now,” they said. “Just make him sleep.” Oh, right! Why didn’t I think of that? I frantically searched for ways to extend your naps.
I tried white noise, so I set up a fan in your room on turbo mode and blared an app that mimicked the hum of an airplane. Then I read about silence, and turned everything off for a few days. You responded by waking up when the garbage truck rolled by, the dryer buzzed, or even a cat meowed outside. You managed a whole 20 minutes instead of 32.
I even held you close while you napped, thinking that might help. But it turns out, you only needed 32 minutes of closeness.
I learned about the importance of motion, so I buckled you into your car seat and drove aimlessly for miles. When you finally woke up, we were 32 minutes away from home. I focused intensely on the right timing to catch your sleepy eyes dropping. “Don’t put him down too early,” they warned. “Don’t wait until he’s overtired.” There’s a “window,” they insisted. Yet, while I still can’t crack your personal “window of wakefulness,” I can accurately predict the exact moment those droopy eyes will pop back open.
I understand, being a baby is tough. Your cozy womb is gone, you can’t quite control your head, and teething isn’t fun. I’m rooting for you, kiddo, but I need more than a 32-minute break to muster up the right amount of sympathy.
So until then, I’ll be the one in line at the grocery store, rocking your stroller back and forth as we approach that crucial half-hour mark. I’ll avoid eye contact while you peek around the canopy because once you spot me, the game is over.
And then, when you flash that adorable smile, I’ll remind myself just how lucky I am. It’s a good thing you’re so irresistibly cute when you’re awake.
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In summary, navigating the challenges of motherhood—especially with a baby who has brief naps—can be quite the adventure. While I juggle the demands of daily life and your various needs, I cherish the moments of joy you bring.