The Toddler and the Bed Wars, pt. 1

*Cue theme music*


Long ago, in a galaxy far far away . . .

. . . a toddler had a bed. He loved his bed. He loved his room. He loved his stuffies. But he DID NOT love his nap. He hated his nap, in fact. That poor nap! It felt so rejected and lonely; the toddler's hatred sent the nap to many a counseling session but to no avail. The psychological damage had been done. The nap would never be the same.

Neither, in fact, would the toddler's mother.

But this story is not about her. Ahem.

Perhaps the toddler would not have hated the nap so much, but for a singular event that would forever change the course of his young life: the transition from a crib to a "big boy" bed. In the blink of an eye and a few twists of the screwdriver, the toddler experienced something totally new:

Freedom.

(Which is to say, that with one side of his crib now missing, he was free to come and go as he pleased).

The toddler, overcome with raptures of joy and elation, decided this freedom was just about the best thing he'd ever seen. And since freedom, and falling asleep in random places all over his room, was so much fun, the toddler decided to extend it to not only where he slept, but if he slept.

This was the beginning of many trials for the nap. And for the mother. Ahem.

For, as we all know, to be a toddler is to require much sleep. God designed wee ones that way, and we parents thank Him for it every day. When the toddler would forsake his nap in favor of unsupervised play in his room, the toddler (and the parents) would suffer for it later. 5 o'clock became the Hour of Woe. The toddler, nap-hating and sleep-deprived, turned into a terrible tornado who spun around the house wrecking havoc and mahem until 7 o'clock when he would promptly fizzle out and collapse in his new "big boy" bed. The mother of the toddler, exhausted by the strains of normal motherhood and the added job of damage assessor/controller/picker-uper, woud flop limply into her computer chair and stare at a blank blogger screen (or more often, a bustling WoW-filled screen) until 9 o'clock. At which hour she turned into a pumpkin.

And the nap would cry big rivers of tears at the whole situation and go hide in the closet with a box of Kleenex.

All people everywhere wondered why the toddler hated his nap so much. But mostly, they just wondered why the mother of the toddler had stopped writing posts.

Well, if you have read this tale, friend, you know the answer that you seek. A nap-hating toddler contains as much energy as a nuclear bomb (and requires just as much care). If you doubt that, you undermine the very foundation of my story (and you obviously have no kids of your own).

But if, like me, you sigh hopelessly and wonder if ever peace will live again and the nap yet find its healing, fear not! For you must note the title above. This is but Pt. 1. Another is to come.