Please grant me some effing serenity. Now.

I don’t ask for alot in life. Well, maybe I do, but I sure as hell don’t expect the heavens to open up deliver to my every whim. But one of the luxuries I do so enjoy, and very much deserve, is Devon’s afternoon nap. Those precious, golden 90 minutes are often what enable me to muster up the strength to make it through the rest of my days. I sometimes work, sometimes read and often just sit and marvel at the beauty that silence offers.
For about the past month, Devon has napped less if I put him down later than 1:30. So I have been diligently trying to get him down at the same time every day. But for the last couple of weeks it has been getting harder and harder. I heard that he rarely napped during his Thanksgiving holiday in Utah, but I was willing to chalk that up to the excitement of the holiday hooplah. However, yesterday Devon had no nap at all. as in NO NAP. I was frantically cleaning the house in preparation for my the Christmas party for my monthly book club. I had h’ors douvres to prepare, a table to decorate and piles of dog hair to vacuum. But then Devon decided a nap just didn’t suit his tyrannical needs and so sat in his crib jumping and screaming for over 45 minutes until I grudgingly let the set the little fucker free. He then came downsatairs where he ran about whooping and hollering until he lost his balance, splatted on the floor and got the Mother of all Bloody Lips.
Today is little better. I don’t have to prepare for a dinner party, but he has been sitting in his crib for the past 45 minutes singing and yelling. “Mai-Mai! Mai-Mai? MMMMAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIII-MMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!” Over. And. Over. And. Over. I feel as though the skin has been stripped from all of my nerve endings and I have been dipped in salt.
For awhile I sat on my bed and wondered how the hell I got here. Why is it that if I lose those 90 minutes I think my somewhat shaky existence will come to a complete halt? And so I started chatting with myself, it went something like this: “Good stuff, Craven. Not only do you decide that you no longer need anti-anxiety medication, despite the fact that you are having this conversation without taking a single breath, but you do it at a time when Devon appears to be going off of his naps, the holidays are here and you have an ongoing need to talk with yourself. What the fuck were you thinking? You should be doing a million other things, and yet you sit here, catatonic and praying that he will just shut the hell up and sleep.”
I then took a full breath, first time for doing so all day, and told myself to knock it the hell off, get off my ass and get something done. Afterall, Devon’s noise isn’t one of pain or fear, he’s just making noise and singing. And until he figures out how to actually climb out of the crib, he can just jolly well hang out in there until I feel so inclined to go get him.