Like an hour glass glued to the table

He climbs the stairs for at least the twentieth time with his unsteady gate. His foot thuds announce him long before he rounds the corner into the kitchen. The grin splits his face in half it is so wide. He starts talking on the landing and he is on the second or third verse of his song when he bursts in behind me.

"...like Saige and Darrett. No nigh-nigh. No nigh-nigh, momma!" He pauses for my nod, my smile. "No nigh-nigh? My a big boy. My a big boy like Saige and Darrett."

"Yes, you are. A very big boy, but you have to play in the basement. It's quiet time."

"My know. My go-ing." He turns and patters back across the kitchen. He'll be back, I know. He is bursting with this change. His joy can not be contained. He needs affirmation of his good fortune in fifteen minute increments.

I yanked his nap yesterday. He would still sleep every afternoon, if I chose, but his naps were affecting his bedtime and nothing, no.thing., not one thing, is more important to my sanity, my free time, my marriage, my soul, than my children's early bedtime. It's a selfish thing. I believe, strongly believe, that parents should be selfish to a certain extent, in that, they should identify the things that are vitally important to their well being and give themselves permission to make them possible.

I need time. I like to write, to read. I like to talk to my husband. I like a neat, uncluttered house. I take that time from 7-11 every night. His more natural rhythm would probably be to nap and go to bed around 8:30. I dislike that because it affects me. I weighed the options. Go with his schedule or end the nap and deal with his horrid, tired self from 4-6. I decided I could live with the consequences of keeping my evenings to myself.

I yanked his nap. For me. But if you could have seen him, grown inches just from pride, walking on air, so happy and proud. MY A BIG BOY.

I wanted to take it all back. To follow him up the stairs one more time, drinking in his giggles. To snuggle him down into his little bed with his three butter yellow nanny blankets. Three! butter yellow nanny blankets. All my back up nanny blankets confiscated by my small nanny blanket hoarder and now we must have THREE! Not one less! nanny blankets to sleep.

To hear him say, "I can't seep."
"Close your eyes."
"Not closing."
"Close your eyes and think of something nice to do after naps."
"Dokay."

To peek gingerly around the edge of his door a little after three, terrified to let him sleep another moment because for sure, then, I'd hear him kicking the dresser in their room until 9:00 p.m., driving me insane with the banging and the singing, and whisper, "Quinner. Quinner, baby. It's time to wake up." To see him flip sharply to face me, his eyes bright in the dim light, "OH! WHERE YOU COME FROM?"

Here he comes again, up the stairs, I should tell him that he's going to have to nap if he won't stay in the basement for quiet time like the big kids, but I don't. I can't wait to see his face. It is effused with joy. How often do you get to see a face like that? Shining with joy.

"No nigh nigh! My a big kid!" He doesn't pause this time; he turns instead and heads right back down the stairs, but he pauses at the top and points a finger back at me, "We playing animals. You stay up here."

I will. I'll stay up here and cry a little. I'll cringe when they are unkind to you and you cry. I'll let you work it out, my three (three!) big kids.

Stay a baby. Grow up. Isn't that just the way of it all? He revels in the leap forward while I stand shell shocked in a crater of my own creation and mourn the napping baby of two days ago.

I have my time back. Two days ago he was staying up until 8:45, irritating me with his kicking and his singing and his general awakeness. Now, he can barely keep his tantruming, irrational eyes open through my lullabies at 6:30. I have my time back. I am reading The Elegance of the Hedgehog. I am caught up on laundry. I have time to write and I do. I write ... long posts mourning the loss of yet another piece of his babyness, the loss of his naps. That I yanked. For me.

I don't regret it. I need my evenings to be me outside of them. But, I still mourn it a little and I am reminded, yet again, that no matter how much time I carve or wrestle or wrench out of this crazy baby time for myself, I still have no freaking time.

((I know. I know. Time and I, we are on round 300 or so on this little blog. It could be a slightly boring, angsty summer chez Anymommy until I get past all these birthdays and settle into the idea of it all. Forgive me. This is where I try to pin it all down like pretty butterflies on a velvet page that crumble when you touch them.))