Breaking Up is Hard to Do
by Sharon Tjaden-Glass
Especially when you’re breaking up with a long-standing, beautiful relationship with…
A two-hour nap.
Oh… The peace. The quiet.
Two hours is a whole movie.
It’s two episodes of Game of Thrones.
And with just one child at home, it’s occasionally a nice time to… Yeah. You know.
One some glorious days, the two-hour nap would turn into a three-hour nap.
But as I mentioned in a previous post, our three-year-old daughter is dropping her midday nap. Her body is shifting to require only ten hours of sleep per day instead of her usual twelve hours.
Unfortunately, daycare isn’t on board. According to State of Ohio regulations, she still needs to spend 1 hour and 45 minutes on a cot during an 8-hour stay at daycare. Now, she doesn’t have to sleep. She could stay awake and look at books.
But she doesn’t. She falls asleep every time.
Her daycare teacher exclaims, “She’s a great sleeper!”
Well, for you, she is.
For us, that lovely midday nap now means that she’s still rockin’ at 9:45 p.m. 10:00. 10:20. I, on the other, am officially done with the day at 9:15. I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally depleted by this time and it’s even harder now because I’m pregnant.
Which is why I’m more than thrilled that my husband is willing to keep vigil after I’ve gone to bed. Just to make sure that she doesn’t escape her room while she is trying to go to sleep.
As I saw Labor Day Weekend approaching, my first thought wasn’t, Ahhh… A relaxing weekend.
My first thought was, Oh my God, that’s three full days without daycare or naps. What are we going to do to get out of the house so I don’t go nuts?
I did research. I amassed a list of things we could do. The county fair. The Renaissance Festival. The Cincinnati Museum Center. Boonshoft Museum of Discovery. Yes. We have options. I can get through this, I thought.
I ran the plans by my husband. His response was:
“I need to get work done outside.”
“What work?” I asked.
“That retaining wall needs to be redone. It’s not level, so it’s causing the A/C unit to shake. That needs to get done this weekend.”
My first thought was, Can’t you do that another weekend? Any other weekend? Please-for-the-love-of-God?
We are not so advanced in potty training and managing temper tantrums that I’m willing to go it alone to any of these places. I need a partner.
I imagine the worst. A poop accident that requires four hands to clean up.
Or an all-out tempter tantrum that requires me to carry her like a bundle of firewood back to the car. And I cannot manage that now that she’s 40 pounds and I’m 5 months pregnant.
But, the retaining wall.
We settle on doing something together on Labor Day, giving him two solid weekend days to re-set the retaining wall.
By 4:00 p.m. on Sunday, I walked out of the house, straight to the backyard and announced:
“I need to get away from her. I’m going to the store for an hour.”
I cried all the way to the grocery store, chiding myself the whole time about making such a big deal out of nothing.
So what happened?
She’s three. That’s what happened.
Sometimes, she’s sweet as pie. Other times, she’s sass-a-frass. And when you’re the only person bearing the brunt, it just. Wears. You. Down.
She’s not that bad. She’s a normal three-year-old. Yeah, she acts defiant. Frequently. But that’s normal.
There’s nothing to cry about. Why are you crying? If you can’t handle this, you really shouldn’t be having another kid.
What are you doing with your life?
What is wrong with you?
I did a slow grocery shop. I took my time. I reminded myself that, hey, I’m 5 months pregnant and my emotions are hard to manage when I’m tired and I have no break.
I forgave myself.
Then, I came home, dropped a medium Wendy’s French fry in my husband’s lap as a thank you for helping out, sat down on the freshly re-set retaining wall, and had a good cry.
He put his arm around me and let me talk.
Then, he sent me inside and said, “Take some time for yourself and come back when you feel better.”
So I did.
I took another hour to take a long bath and shave my legs (finally). When I came downstairs, I was ready to help with dinner.
We ate together and laughed a little.
At 7:00, I was ready to take over again. I sent him back outside to finish the wall. I gave our daughter a bath, read to her, tucked her in, cleaned the dishes, finished the laundry, and vacuumed.
And fell asleep around 9:30.
I heard my husband walk into the bedroom later on. I checked the clock.
But the wall was finished.
Parents of older kids sometimes tell us that, “Things get easier.”
But then they’re quick to add, “Well, some things get easier. Other things get harder.”
They are right.
In exchange for letting go of naps and diapers, we’re entering a new world of possibilities of ways that we can spend our time with our kids. Beyond the kitchen, the dining room, and the playroom.
We go out. We show her new things. She is delighted and her delight is palpable. We can actually enjoy experiences together.
But right now, I feel caught in the middle. She has moved beyond naps, but she hasn’t risen to the level of self-sufficiency that makes me feel comfortable enough to wrangle her by myself. Maybe it’s my personality. Maybe it’s the pregnancy. Maybe both.
Yes, I know. It’s all a phase. One big, giant phase.
But this next phase… It’s turning out to be a lot harder to adjust to than I thought.