I love my sleep. But I’m willing to sacrifice it so I can feed my baby, run faster, write more.
I love my sanity, too.
But I’m willing to sacrifice it for the good of the team. Which, lately, has meant no naptime for Squish. I thought I would dread the day Squish no longer napped. I thought it would mean twelve solid hours of two little boys demanding my attention:
“Will you play Uno with me?”
“But I want to play Zing-Pow!”
“He hit me!”
“I want the yellow cup!”
Queue moaning, collapsing in tears, throwing decks of cards across the room. And, in the end Mom, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth, waiting for Micah to come home and save her.
But this week, naps just haven’t worked out. We’ve had errands that needed to be run, places we had to go, no time for me to listen to Squish cry for half an hour before falling asleep.
And it’s been awesome. Suddenly I have three more hours in my day. No need to work laundry around naptime, no reason to forget the museum in the afternoon simply because we couldn’t get there in the morning. And, best of all, even when we’re at home with nothing to do, Manchild has sat down with Squish and a book and tried to teach him to read, or showed him how to do the activities in his BrainQuest book, or they’ve simply played a game together. Without me.
And instead of rocking back and forth waiting to be saved, I’m savoring it.
I never thought that sacrificing the nap – the part of my day I considered my sanity’s saving grace – would mean more time and more peace of mind.
But I guess that is what happens when you sacrifice. You end up with more than you gave up.