We sat at a two person table, just Jared and me. In this small restaurant there were about five babies under twelve months old. I felt sad. I felt desperate, too. I felt glad to be with my husband, just us. Just me, mooning over wrinkly-faced babies. I considered my age. I considered all the celebrities about my age that are having babies and are featured on magazine covers.
I let it be.
“He’ll fall asleep in the car, right?”
My kid? No. Not since he was an infant, and even then, rarely. His nickname was “Never say ‘die’” at last in reference to going to sleep. A family member gave us a copy of Go the F/ck to Sleep, picture book for parents. If you haven’t seen it, you probably get the idea. We read it a couple times, found it funny, and then donated it.
When he did nap in the car, it was in the afternoon, and we’d pull up to the house, park, and quietly leave him asleep. He could happily nap for awhile.
Now, he sits in the car after an afternoon trip to the library with a stack of a dozen or more books. He peruses each one. He could be in the car for an hour or more. Just like naptime, I must carefully assess how I will spend my time. Dishes? Kung fu? Writing? Vacuuming? Invoices? Potting up plants? Napping?