So, my life currently revolves around “the dash”, also known as “the eye rub dash”. Who knew that at 35 years old I would be dropping literally everything at the sight of a chubby little fist headed in the direction of an eyelid. Why? because all hail the nap, the elusive, wonderful, magical time of the day when a hot drink returns from the land of make believe and I can walk freely from one room to another, on my own.
If we manage one nap without an epic struggle I consider my day a total success regardless of whatever else might have happened. In order to avoid the epic struggle I need to recognise the signs of my offspring being tired before they even appear, yeah, mum skill no. 26, be a mind reader. Generally there is a window, a very small window between the little man deciding he’s tired and him actually going to sleep without too much fuss. Enter “the dash”, the moment that fist looks even anywhere near rubbing that eye I’m swooping in, running up those stairs, throwing that kid in the cot and getting the hell out of there before he’s had time to realise whats just happened. Because let me tell you, if I miss that window, that golden opportunity, its game over. The following hours or even remainder of the day will inevitably be taken up by me trying to convince this 9 month old that the remedy to being knackered and pissed off is to sleep.