Here’s some shocking news. My wife and I don’t always agree on every parenting issue. I know, more “some days you don’t get mail” shocking than “Charlie Sheen is sober” shocking. But still. Sometimes we simply don’t agree.
An issue where disagreement arises is our daughter’s daily nap. Now we’re both pro-naps. Napping isn’t really a “with us or against us” kind of issue. Like all parents we love that stunning serenity of quiet in the middle of the day. It’s just that we disagree with how long naps should be.
Our daughter’s average daily nap is around two hours. Some days it approaches three. On one magical day it was a few minutes shy of five, and I saw a unicorn in our backyard.
In those first two hours of the nap, my wife and I are in pleasant agreement. It’s nice. We’ll often pause and say “listen.” And just bask in the toddler-free silence. We’ll enjoy tea, talk politics, read books, and even think.
My favourite thing to do while my toddler is napping: Lie down on my bed and try to remain as perfectly still as possible.
Then two hours and one minute. Our thought patterns diverge.
I immediately go into stealth mode. I traverse the house like a ninja. My movements are fluid. My presence is undetected. I forego opening chip bags, eating hard crackers and even flushing the toilet. I know that any large sounds or sudden movements could interrupt the nap. If I remain quiet I may be rewarded with an extra hour of silence.
My wife begins to get antsy, fidgety. Her maternal hearing becomes heightened. She’ll look at me and say, “I think I hear her.” Even when the baby monitor registers no sound.
It then becomes a struggle of wills as I try to convince my wife that the noise was actually raccoons trying to get into our garbage cans or the house settling or the pug snoring or a car alarm or our neighbour’s baby crying or anything but our daughter waking up.
When “I think I hear her” is followed by “I’m going to check on her,” I know that the nap is over.
“Checking” sometimes involves simple staring but, more often than not, involves recovering with blankets or repositioning in the crib. My wife denies that “checking” involved prodding until our daughter wakes up, but the evidence suggests otherwise.
Nine times out of nine, when my wife goes to check on our napping daughter, my wife will return with our awake daughter. Our quiet time will disappear.
My wife is a nap saboteur, but only because she misses our daughter for those two quiet hours. I also miss our daughter. It’s just that when she’s awake I also miss the silence.
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