Irony

There are mornings, that within 20 minutes of waking up, I am counting down the minutes until nap time. I am fantasizing about sitting on the couch, dreaming about cleaning the house in peace, imagining the joy of thumbing through a magazine uninterrupted, picturing blogging and being able to write an entire sentence without stopping to say something like "Do NOT put your finger in the cat's bottom!".

Tuesday morning started off that way at 6:38 a.m.
As she lay with me watching Little Einsteins I was already wondering what time she would take her nap. While I tried to make her blueberry pancakes and answer all 40 bazillion questions she had, I stared at the clock wondering how it was only 8:45 a.m. After her 56th time sitting on the potty just for practice, not with results, I daydreamed of sitting on the patio doing the crossword puzzle.

By 10 o'clock I was ready for her nap. Heck, I was ready for bed.

And then we went to a new story time. And she smiled and shoved her hands in her butterfly pockets and shyly sat next another little girl and looked at a book. She didn't really listen to the story teller, but she did love the parade through the bookstore, the sand-art craft project and, OH MY GOD, the cookies and milk afterward in the cafe.
And then we listened to Hakuna Matata nine times in the car. And we went to Ikea and shared a plate of Swedish meatballs. She picked out a "thinking chair" and three 50 cent zoo animals. We got back in the car, listened to Hakuna Matata another six times and arrived home in time for nap time.

And she cried crocodile tears and said No nap Mama! No ni-night, puhhleasse, no ni-night. But I brought her upstairs anyway. We sat and rocked and read Wynken, Blynken and Nod, around page four, she pulled my arms around her, snuggled into the crook of my elbow and quickly fell asleep.

And I sat there and rocked and rocked, not quite ready for her to leave my lap, oddly not quite ready for the much thought about, highly coveted, nap time.