Recently, our daughter discovered The Long Nap.
One evening a few weeks back, when we were handing our hitherto sweet and unfussy baby back and forth like a hot potato because she would not stop crying, Mitch had a revelation. “Maybe,” he suggested, “she’s just tired.”
Ding! The light bulb switched on.
Up to that point, if Lydia was tired, she just fell asleep, but as her world grew more vivid and interesting she began to suspect, I think, that we were throwing parties without her while she slept. We tend to encourage this suspicion by whispering to each other, as we swaddle her up and tote her off to bed, to “get out the party favors ’cause the baby’s going down for a nap!” (Poor kid.)
But really, somehow we ended up with this baby who sleeps for hours and hours, disregarding the heavy construction on our street and the creaky bedroom door to sleep soundly on. Once she made the transition from fifteen minute power naps, scattered throughout the day, Lydia converted to two or three mega-naps, which leaves me standing strangely in the middle of the living room, with my shirt all buttoned up and both hands free, looking around and wondering what to do with myself.
Nap? Put away laundry? Start a conga line with the cats?
After a baby this sweet and mellow, I’m almost scared to see how the next one turns out. (That, my friends, is as close as I get right now to considering “another one.”)