I fear the end is coming. G refuses to nap. John and I take turns sitting outside his room to at least ensure an hour or so of “rest” (yeah right, as if), attempting whatever modicum of patience we are capable of that day. I must admit, as I come to expect less, I find it easier not to care what he does, leaving him to his own devices. As long as he stays in the vicinity of his bed.
Today while I was talking to John in his office (i.e. enormous desk in small hallway) after lunch, we turned around to see G at the door with a fully peeled banana, just munching away. After eating most of an entire peanut butter & jelly and half an apple, he had been excused to play until nap time/spend-time-in-his-room time. Hungry to do something on his own, he had quietly drug a chair into the kitchen and managed to peel the banana, extracting the fruit without annihilating it. He quietly showed up to show us his work.
Earlier he helped me make morning coffee. After that, while waiting for the garbage truck, he enthusiastically gathered yard rubbish—twigs, sticks, weeds I’d pulled, fallen leaves, nuts hollowed out by hungry squirrels—and placed it in the bin at the curb. I had him running an entire hour. He carried a large rock that must have weighed at least seven pounds from the front yard to John, who was working at the table on our back porch. And still, no sleep.
Did I say I’d like to take a nap? That John is probably now sleeping on the grey couch? The wind seems to have shifted since I’ve sat here this past hour. In more ways than one. And yes, we have two and half years until preschool.
Meanwhile, Gaba stomps while he counts: One! Two! Free! Four! Five! Six!