The Day My Son Smeared Poop on the Walls (and We Kissed Naptime Goodbye).

So, there’s this thing that everyone fights for in motherhood. The precision and timing and execution are required to make this magic happen. And when it does, life is bliss. And when it ends, life is holy terror.

I am talking about NAPTIME, people.

Because, let’s be honest–yes, your kid “needs a nap” so they “won’t melt down at playgroup” so they “won’t be overtired at bedtime.” All of these sentiments are complete truth.

But really? Your kids “need a nap” so mom can “hide out in the living room” and “eat large amounts of chocolate/potato chips/fistfuls of Goldfish” so she can “go five minutes without being touched.”

I have three kids that are past the stage of naptime. Solidarity, sister. Now I just hide in my bathtub and scroll my iPhone and sneak in the Ghiradelli chocolates that I had hidden in the rouge kitchen drawer with the aluminum foil.

Just give me FIVE MINUTES, sweetie! Mommy’s in the bathroom!

So, before all the weird chocolate eating in the bathroom happened, there was naptime, and it was a solid quiet chunk of my life that I will never get back. If you are wondering, “when will my sweet toddler grow out of naptime?” allow me to paint a scenario for you that will convince you to wave the white flag and move on with your life and join the ranks of mothers like me that hide from their kids in hallway closets and on top of the dryer at twenty minute five minute intervals:

When our second child was closing in on two and a half, we started the classic afternoon nap tug of war. I would lay him down, he would cry and argue about napping, I would ignore said arguing since all I needed was a few minutes of solitude and the absence of Disney Junior, and I would calmly leave the room. Then the screaming would ensue, and the “let’s just calm down and NAP” conversations, and the next thing you know it, naptime is OVER and it has been two hours and the mac and cheese is boiling over and the infant is screaming to nurse again.

So, I thought I would solve this problem by simply renaming it “quiet rest,” which we all know does not work. If you love Twinkies and someone hands you a Golden Creme Cake, you are NOT FOOLED. Neither is a toddler with the fancy renaming of naptime hours. But I sojourned on, placing him in his room (that he shared with his five year old sister at the time) and simply told him to sit quietly and play on his bed for a few.

He did both of these things. But he skipped playing with toys and played with the contents of his pull-up. On his bed. And on the walls. And the comforter.

POOP. WAS. EVERYWHERE.

He was not tired. He was bored with playing. So he became inventive and turned our semi gloss paint job into his personal work of art. It was in his hair, under his nailbed. I cleaned for HOURS. I threw away a CD PLAYER, for heaven’s sake. Between that putrid stench mixed with spit up and that boiled mac and cheese from earlier, we didn’t host company for quite some time.

And that was the day we threw in the towel on naptime. I was no match for that kid and his arsenal of full pull-ups. So, if our kids needed to sleep, they would snooze as we drove across the dam. Or we would pile up together with blankets on couches and watch an afternoon movie. And suddenly my entire afternoon was not ruled by being home at a certain time and missing out on building relationships with friends and their children just to fight the never-ending battle of the afternoon snooze. And there is not enough bleach in the world to combat what we endured on that fateful day.

So, if you child misses naptime today, take it in stride. Bump up bedtime thirty minutes earlier, empty out those candy stashes and watch Shark Tank. And don’t you dare hand me a Golden Creme Cake.