George won’t sleep.
I’m sorry, but those are three of the most horrifying words that any parent can utter about their child, especially once that child is well past infancy.
George won’t sleep.
Here’s what I really don’t understand, though. If someone were to look at me everyday, and tell me, you know what, it’s time for you to stop what you are doing and rest, right now… my head would hit the pillow before the words were out of their mouth. A nap. EVERY day? I am so in.
But not George. Sleeping is, apparently, a waste of his time.
Which is not to say that the child doesn’t just lose consciousness every day. For example, he passes out on the boat:
And he’ll envelop himself in every blanket in the house and grab some z’s, like so:
Here he is, somehow sharing the couch with Jim, but if you look closely, it’s like they are in some type of “old woman or young woman” painting, where you cannot quite figure out how it is humanly possible that they are laying this way. Serioulsy, where are both their legs?
And of course, here he is in a bed. My bed. Not his. He won’t sleep there. Mine.
But in general, when I ask him to sleep, the response is something like this:
So generally, much of my mid-morning and early afternoon is taken up with the intense and grating effort to put George down for a nap. Of course, sometimes, when he does nap, he wakes up not refeshed, but crankier than before, as if I put him to sleep not with a lullaby and a sweet kiss, but with a dose of some sort of powerful anestesic that caused him to wake like a grumpy giant instead of a sweet prince. So really, I don’t know why I bother.
But anyway, last night, at 7:30, the child went down for the night. He fell asleep while playing, and we managed to easily transfer him to his bed, where he stayed all night. All. Night. George slept. Yesterday, I had errands to run, and George did not get his nap. And this was the result.
So, like many mothers before me who also thought they’d stumbled onto a feat of true genius, I thought, A-HA! Sleep depravation will set me free! I shall never let him nap again. So I was working at it today, and how. We played, we busted out the Legos, we played a little Bakugan (still — no idea what this is). We watched Dora (which is a strangely compelling show). We had a snack, and later lunch. We did as much as possible to distract ourselves from sleep. So when he held up a Thomas the Tank Engine DVD to watch, I popped it in the DVD player in the basement, came upstairs, made myself a PB&J for lunch (So good, by the way. Do you ever just eat PB&J? Tastes like my childhood wrapped in a happy cloud. Mmmmmmmmmm.) and went to check on him. Here is what I found:
I put the blanket on him, but only because I was cold. Which is a totally different beef I have all together. It’s August, for the love of Mary. Why the hell am I cold?
Anyway, I suppose I should have seen it coming. At least I have yet another picture of him sleeping, to add to my collection of photos to prove that he doesn’t sleep.
George won’t sleep. George konks out whenever and wherever he damn well feels like it. It’s going to be another long night.