This morning, I was going to write the following post:
On Saturday night, we changed Soren’s crib to a toddler bed and it ain’t, as they say, no thing. He doesn’t get up from his toddler bed until an appropriate, adult-sanctioned time. He sleeps and everything is delightful in the world.
Aside from the fact that’s a boring-ass post, it turns out to be a lie. A big, fat lie.
On the weekdays I’m home, Soren and I have an arrangement such that at some point in the day, he will take a nap and I will take a tiny little catnap and then run on the treadmill for an hour. This is how things have been . . . since there have been things. Although our schedule enjoys a certain amount of flexibility, the routine has become so entrenched in our household we don’t even have to think about it. At the first sign of Soren tiredness, I scramble into my running clothes, shoes and all, so I don’t have to waste any precious naptime getting dressed. Yes, I catnap in my running clothes, including shoes (I dangle my feet off the bed). Totally weird, but I’m a fanatic about pre-workout efficiency and I barely doze off anyway.
Today, the first weekday at home after The Great Toddler Bed Transition of 2012 occurred, things went to shit.
The bad thing is that I’m very nap suggestible. When Soren says he’s getting tired and wants to take a nap, I’m all hey, yeah I want to take a nap, too. That happened earlier than usual today, so I was suspicious. In these instances, I try to persuade him to have lunch first or do something totally fun and exciting like ride around the back yard in his police car and pretend arrest the dogs for drunk and disorderly conduct.
The next problem was that I realized I can fit into Soren’s toddler bed with him. So there we are, scrunched in a tiny little bed under a little blanket, Soren with his paci (I know) and milk in a sippy cup (I know again), and me in my running clothes and shoes. I thought it was the best of all possible worlds. Soren can go to sleep and I can get my catnap and we can snuggle. Yay snuggling!
No. There was no yay about this shit. He piled stuffed cats and broccoli on me and balanced a sippy cup on my head and then a cat kept coming in the room and meowing and of course that was just hilarious and no sleep was to be had.
So I got up, and keep in mind that now I’m grumpy because I’ve been teased with the delicate beauty of a nap. And then Soren gets up and decides he wants one or more of the delicious lunch items I tried to convince him he wanted earlier. So he has lunch and I don’t, because I don’t eat lunch when I’m going to run, because running on a full stomach is the worst. My general practice on days I run in the afternoon is to have a reasonable breakfast and then a slice of bread with butter on it while Soren has lunch. So Soren has lunch and I have a slice of bread with butter on it and then we hang out and I dream of a time when he takes a nap. That time never comes.
Okay, that’s an exaggeration. That time does come, but not until like 2:45. By then, I’ve also eaten a granola bar for kids and some vegetable chips (these are really good). And maybe another slice of bread. I don’t even remember, but my tummy is all rumbly because I haven’t eaten an actual meal since breakfast. Now he wants to go to bed, he says. And thusly there is much rejoicing. And he goes to bed. And I go lie down, in my running clothes and shoes, with Sadie who curls up on a pillow, and with VIP the cat who does that kneading thing cats do so close to me her whiskers tickle my face and her claws poke my arm until I tell her to leave me alone and she curls up next to me.
And Soren, toddler, in bed, talks shit. I don’t pay attention to what he’s saying. I set my alarm for these naps — not that I’m going to fall asleep for more than a minute — so at some point the alarm will go off and *poof* I’ll get up and then I’ll start running. And Soren keeps talking shit and I keep setting the alarm for later and later times, because I don’t want to get ripped off of my 20 minutes of unspoiled rest.
And then I doze off for a minute. And then I wake to the most terrifying sounds I’ve ever heard in my life. They go something like this:
Tee hee tee hee tee hee tee HEE HEE HEE HEEEEEEEE!!!
*pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter pitterpitterpitterpitter PATTER*
And I am gripped by the bony, icy fingers of the most exquisite horror I’ve ever experienced. He is up and he is walking around the house and I don’t know what’s going on. All my fears regarding the transition to toddler bed have become reality. The pitter patters are coming from inside the house! AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!
“Go to bed!!” I scream in my best goddamn-it-I’m-grumpy-and-will-never-get-a-half-assed-nap-again voice. The pitter patters go in the general direction of Soren’s bed and all is silent in the world. I adjust my alarm.
I hear the tee hees and pitter patters at least one more time and scream “GO TO BED” at least one more time. The next thing I hear is the following:
Newborn lambs are wobbly. Soon they can run and frolic. Baa . . . baa . . . The little lambs are bleating.
Oh. Now he’s in bed, reading one of his favorite books, Fleecy Lamb by Demi (link to Barnes & Noble Marketplace because this is not easy to find; Ben got it at a garage sale) (Soren calls the book Baa Sheep). Okay wait, he’s not even 3 (yet!). I know he’s not actually reading. But he knows the story and can recite the words as he turns each page, so gosh darn it it seems like he’s reading. So that’s nice and I dream of dozing off while listening to Soren tell me that lambs like to eat grass, and flowers, too.
But it is not to be. He gets up again. I get up again. It’s so late in the day that if I start my run now, Ben will be home before I finish. I realize that Soren isn’t going to bed, anyway, so I can’t start my run because I run too hard to talk to anybody while I’m running and honestly if there’s one thing about me that’s true it’s that I don’t like to be bothered by anyone while I’m working out.
By this point I’ve reached the pinnacle of grumpiness. I haven’t had a meal in forever and I haven’t had a nap and I haven’t had my workout and ugh, this is just the dumbest day ever, and if that’s not bad enough, I’ve faced the terror of a toddler who gets out of his toddler bed and moves freely throughout the house while everybody else is trying to sleep.
I’m afraid our world will never be the same again.