Catch-22

Of late, Otter's been skipping naps.

This development was met with unadulterated horror on my part. She's not even quite 3 - should this be happening? Will she be getting enough rest? Will she be melting down by day's end? More importantly, will I? How does one survive one's own child for an uninterrupted 14 hours without going mad or developing a serious Valium addiction?

Sure I say I relish every fleeting weekend moment with my kid. Those charming impromptu picnics on the bed, digging in the backyard dirt, pretend train rides in her crib - but this is all contingent on a 2-3 hour span where she's tucked far away in dreamland, while I get to be a grown up. Dragging my kid through the mall because she wouldn't nap so I took her to go shoe shopping and now I'm peeling her off the mannequin in the Lucky Store display and talking her out of splashing in the fountain after she refused to even try the ice cream she begged me to buy doesn't quite inspire parental bliss. The only thing that gets me through those days is the knowledge that once she hits the pillow at 9, within 15 minutes (at most) I will be free to pursue the illusion of being an untoddlered adult.

On the other hand, the days she does nap we pay the price at bedtime. After putting SB down diligently at 9, we spend the next hour to hour and a half returning to her room at intervals for hugs, kisses, sips of water, the occasional diaper change, blanket adjustments, resetting the music, resetting the night light (which times out at after a length of time the makers deemed sufficient for your average child to fall asleep). This rinse and repeat process is maddening - my dinner, work time or (if I'm feeling really crazy) reading constantly interrupted by plaintive bleats of "Moooommmy, " emanating from the baby monitor. Ignoring the summons is of no use - as they gain volume and urgency with each passing moment. You'd think she was dying of thirst. Eventually, worn down by hours of making me run to her, she thankfully falls asleep, leaving me to enjoy and 11 o'clock dinner.

Which leads to the Catch-22 - which madness do you choose?

Imagine

A child's imagination is a magical thing, opening a world of possibilities, both real and extraordinary, to the tyke. In the right hands, it is also a powerful tool to manipulate and give the otherwise hapless parent a half step up on their equally manipulative offspring.

My tale begins several months back, when our family visited friends on the East Coast. Along with the joy of a plane trip, the experience of new sights and sounds, endless reruns of the animal show they'd kindly recorded, they had a far more prized possession - two cats.

Otter was fascinated and smitten. She rejoiced in looking for them throughout the house and looked forward to giving them treats every evening. And long after her memories of excursions faded, the torch for Bob and Mabel burned strongly in her heart. Months after we were back home, she would quiz me on their names and inquire about their whereabouts.

Most days, I'd tell SB that the cats were doing well, though living far away. Perhaps one day she'd see them again but in the meantime I suggested she just treasure the memory of the days they spent together. Tonight however, I was hit with a bolt of inspiration that may prove most useful in the coming days.

I decided to pretend the felines were with us. We called them by name during story time, invited the up on the bed. And when the imaginary cats jumped up (complete with the light pitter-patter of feet courtesy of yours truly) we petted them, fed them imaginary treats and red them a story. Bob and Mabel then became highly interested in Otter's tooth brushing technique, were fascinated by her change into a night-time diaper, and positively overcome when SB demonstrated how she gets into her pajamas. And after holding them carefully in her hands while did our late-night hugs, SB was amazingly all too happy to settle in, get covered by her blanket and wait for B and M to curl up under it.

There were no calls for last kisses, no mad scrambles out of bed or protests against lights out. The girl, her stuffed animals, and her new pretend pets curled under her blanket, were cozy and happy and ready for sleep.

I am amazed, touched and overwhelmed by SB's ability to immerse herself in this new, make-believe world. But if I'm to be honest, there is an ulterior motive. Sure I like to nurture the flights of fancy, hoping that one day Otter's outside-the-box thinking will make her the next Einstein, Shakespeare or Van Gogh. But at the end of the day (literally) all I really care about is getting her to bed in time to enjoy a glass of wine and a bad TV show. I just wonder how long this currency will last.

Rise and Shine

The problem with toddlers is nobody told them the proper time to wake up. When the memo stating that 5:05 am is too early went out, they weren't on the distribution list. Apparently they missed the "Don't even THINK about getting up before 5!" memo as well. Never one to repeat a performance, SB decided that 5:05 was so Saturday morning, and greeted Sunday at 4:46 am. As did we, her hapless parents.

By 10:30, when we had been up for SIX HOURS, Otter was starting to melt down, big-time. Everything annoyed and upset her, and led to tears. It was clearly time for a nap. I turned to Bree, bleary-eyed and asked, "Why did we decide to have one?" And then we headed off to Travel Town, for a birthday party.

Travel Town, for those who have not been, is a magical world of trains and tracks, cabooses and train rides, and a museum of all things choo-choo (including a horrifying zoo crate marked "Cheetah" that I would barely fit into).

Otter was thrilled. Even though she avoided the other kids, the idea of running full speed down train tracks appealed to her immensely. With nary a look back at mom and dad, she bolted away, scampering over rails that nearly came up to her knees, collecting rocks, and trying to climb under train cars. And the ride on the mini-train had her right-out laughing. All grumpiness and tiredness were forgotten.

She (and we) survived it like a champ. She was happy and fun, and adventurous and independent - all the things I adore about her. How could I begrudge her an early-morning rising when she was so easy during the day? Oh wait - that's still TOTALLY not cool...

Permanent Baby

A few months ago, Otter reached the milestone for understanding object permanence. Which is a fancy way of saying that she now realizes the world goes on, even when she's not there. Babies being the completely self-centered creatures that they are, Otter takes great exception to this fact, and it's become a bit of an obstacle at nap time.

As soon as SB sees her Sleep Sac come out, the waterworks begin. It matters not that she is tired and cranky, or that she will be perfectly fine within several minutes of me leaving the room. The blanket, with all the napping it implies, is highly offensive. I'm not sure what great fun she imagines I'm having while she is "put away." Certainly it's not me blending corn, or trying to fold laundry at breakneck speed. On the other hand, this is a baby who is entertained as hell by pulling herself up to a standing position and yanking at a curtain. So maybe the blender is truly a party in a box for her.

Be that as it may, getting her into her Sleep Sac has become a tearful bait and switch con, where stuffed animals, blocks and the occasional diaper wipe are all employed. So sure, my baby ends up in her crib clutching a plastic Ferris wheel toy. But at least she's in bed, right?

Ousted

Bree and I have been evicted. It all began innocently enough a few weeks back, while my mother was in town. Like all life changes that we don't want to accept, instead of seeing the writing on the wall and admitting what was actually happening, we first wrote it off as a fluke, a one-off.

As we came to bed, Otter, who had been sleeping blissfully, stirred (as she often does) and my heart began pounding hard enough for her (and all of our neighbors) to hear it. I struggled to calm myself, since I'm weirdly convinced that Otter can feel my adrenaliney panics that she will wake. It seemed to work.

But I was fooled - after lulling us into complacency by settling back down, Otter did the unthinkable. An hour later she woke, screaming bloody murder for no apparent reason. And now there was no settling her back down. We walked and comforted, we rocked, we sang. We pretended we didn't notice the hysterical sobbing.

It seems that the only acceptable position was hovering over her crib. After 20 minutes of me standing doubled over the bar, wondering if it was humanly possible to sleep like this, she settled into what I thought was sleep. I gingerly shifted my weight back. Not took a step. Not moved a foot. Just shifted my weight. It was all over - and the screaming redoubled at twice the volume.

Bree and I had a two options. Put her into bed with us - which we've tried, resulting in only Otter getting any sleep, as she somehow manages to use her 2' 4" frame to push me entirely out of bed, leaving me clinging for dear life. Or leave the room. Which is what we did. Guiltily, we skulked out, leaving Otter to scream her lungs out, and us to pretend it didn't bother us. 15 minutes later (after over an hour of our unsuccessful intervention) Otter was out. The only evidence of her ordeal was a general puffiness the next day. But hey, we were ALL puffy.

Thus the plan was hatched - when Otter bawls, we comfort first, flee soon thereafter. For a while, we camped out on the couch. Now, since the the guest room is vacant, we've moved there. Last night, Otter didn't even bother to seem upset after we left - within a minute, she was asleep.

It seems our little girl is telling us she wants a room of her own. Or rather, that she has her own room, and we better get the F out of it...