Sitting here, again, nap trapped, again, while loads of work continue to pile around me. Typing with one hand, desperate to feel a sense of accomplishment. Because, lets be honest, looking around a messy house with dishes piled up, toys to trip on, half completed projects in every room, I don’t feel very accomplished these days. Its especially hard when you flip on a bit of social for a moment’s distraction and get slapped in the face with Instagram perfection. Perfect house, perfect makeup, trendy outfit, holding her perfect new book in her manicured hands. While I’m trapped beneath a drooling toddler, modeling new stains on an old shirt, pencil perpetually suspended over my writing notebook that sees more action from intrusive kid’s doodles than my hand.
Don’t get me wrong, its encouraging to see others succeed and know that its possible. But its also a little discouraging because, well, I’m nap trapped again. One arm numb, phone dying, stomach grumbling and not enough minutes left to get it all done before three additional chaos-makers skedaddle off the bus.
This has been my reality for years now. About 2 hours a day, 5 days a week (The Hubby spots me on most weekends), for the first 3 years of their lives. In January, that makes 12 years of nap trapping! But just as the math blew my mind, a reality check stopped me cold. My days of being nap trapped are almost over. With the youngest turning 3 in a couple of months, and my kids typically sleeping more independently after their 3rd birthday, my arms will be empty during nap times. What I’ve craved and dreamt of for years is within reach and while there’s a measure of relief, there’s also a generous helping of sadness.
You see, while I’ve been nap trapped, I’ve had this fear of missing out, of not achieving my dream of becoming an author, of even being considered lazy. Comparing myself to other women my age who have accomplished some of my goals and wondering why I’m so far behind. But as I look back on those endless days of snuggles, of sleeping cherub faces, I realize none of those precious hours were wasted. As they venture into this sometimes-cruel world they know they will always have an anchor at home. A love that is willing to sacrifice for their betterment and growth.
The years of diapering, baby powder, tantrums (won’t miss those), sticky hands and messy faces are quickly slipping into the review mirror of life. The days of independence and hot coffee are creeping into view. As much as I’ve longed for them, I think I’ll hold those little grubby fingers a little tighter and kiss those little dirty cheeks a little more.
