Like the torrent of a hurricane and the power of a fierce volcano, the sharp blast of nap time has whipped through our home once again and erupted in wails from our once happy children.
I just don't get it. It can be a perfectly wonderful day that leads up to tearful nap time and it can be a perfectly awful day that leads up to a tearful nap time. The equation here befuddles me.
Today, all three of them were chorusing together from their own respective places in cries of anguish and sorrow, all confirmations of desolately exhausted and tired children. One of the said children was actually not tired but relentlessly fighting the enemy of starvation. Yeah, that 20+ pounds-of-baby-fat 10 month old. He almost didn't make it. We actually had to coax him back to life just in time with that all 9 oz. bottle of milk. Powerful stuff, that milk is. And then he happily goes on to do what babies do best: maintain cuteness while investigating everything in reach, including that dark corner behind the toilet that you never clean since you can't reach it and no body can see it anyway.
In case you think I accept this strange nap time behavior as normal and healthy, I can assure that I have punished the tears, prized the happy-ness and promised both that when nap time is over, we can all sit on the porch swing and drink strawberry "smoovies" and maybe even a walk to the park.
But, all to no avail. I almost have to stop and ask myself why nap time was ever invented and why moms talk about it being a highlight in their day.
For one child in particular that lives in our home, I offered a spoonful of vinegar if they continued to cry. The said child, amazingly, laid in the napping bed and wailed for vinegar!!! She actually wanted it. And wanting it was making her cry for it. And crying was making her want it more. Or so she thought.
Just like every single solitary day that nap time spreads it's venomous entrails to the far corners of our little house and it's incurable wails infect the very fibers of the carpet, just before the moment you think you might decide to start in with them, it quits. The crying is over. Just like that. Zilch. Hush. Peace.
I glimpse into their rooms and find each angelic child in an exhausted heap, mouths open wide in a mid-wail position, sleeping soundly.
And then it dawns on me why I look forward to nap time everyday.