The toddler was on the ground, crying, “I need a nap.”
He situated himself outside of his daddy’s office door in a crying, sobbing 32-pound heap of boy. He knew what he wanted and yet when I scooped him up for quick transport to his crib, he shrieked. His screams became sobs in a sudden change-of-mind.
“Daddy is on the phone,” I whispered into his soft ear while holding him tightly against me. He wrapped his arms around my neck and squeezed my waist with his legs. It was the only type of snuggle he allowed these days.
“No, not that, not that,” he pleaded with his arms still wrapped around my neck.
I shook him off like a flea as I dropped him into his bed and wiped the tears from his cheeks.
“Sweet dreams,” I said and pulled the door to his room shut with the pitiful sound of crying behind me.
I wanted to say, Little Boy, you are so lucky to get to lay down in the middle of the day for an hour. Don’t fight it.
As for me, I wanted to nap with every cell in my body. I longed for peace. I needed to be left alone.
However, now that both boys are sleeping and it is quiet, I miss their noise, their neediness, and the special kind of chaos that they create every single day.
Thanks to the Stones, there is a song that plays in my head, explaining this phenomenon.
Take a break, take a breath and take back your day.