Like most mothers of three, I'm tired. You know that bone weary exhaustion after pulling an all-nighter or two in college? I wish I could feel that tired. I passed that like seven and a half years ago. I'm only upright courtesy of a gallon of diet coke and high-waisted jeans.
True story: I was stuck in traffic in my minivan (so it had to be between September 2000 and March 2004 as those were the dark days of minivanning) and I could NOT get my back windshield wipers to turn off. I pushed and pulled every flipping knob on that console but still, swish swish swish. I reached into the glove box for the manual which didn't even list rear wipers in the index. Just when I thought I would lose my mind, the car behind me made a right, bringing with it the offending wipers. And it still took me 10 minutes to realize I had been trying to control another car. Minivans don't have rear wipers. Well rested people do not make that mistake.
That's why it pains me to tell you that at the ripe old age of three years and one week, Eli appears to be giving up his nap. ShallowGal's forty-five daily minutes of peace and quiet are numbered. And the company of a toddler who hasn't napped come dinnertime? The Prince of Darkness himself would run and hide.
Oh believe you me, I am taking this one to the mat. Eli has a brand-new (1) race car bed just waiting for him in the garage but even in my sleep deprived little mind I can see what happens the minute he's spring from his cozy little crib cave (2) Total anarchy.
So here's what it comes down to, Eli baby. Blackmail. Either resume napping immediately or prepare to have me pull this picture out when you bring home your first girlfriend.
1) New to him anyway.
2) A crib cave because it has one of those tents on top to keep him in. Sue me.