Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today not to mourn the loss of Clio's nap, but to celebrate it. Because that's what the nap would have wanted us to do. It would not have wanted us to dwell on its absence with weeping and lamention, although certainly that is a natural reaction to a loss of something so, so, SO dear to us. Excuse me -- sorry, I just need a minute, I'm fine, really -- does anyone have a tissue? Thank you.
As I was saying, this nap had a long, happy life -- longer than many afternoon naps. So let's remember the good times we had while it was with us -- all the things that the nap brought into our lives: time to write or relax or catch up on email; time to recover our energy and patience after a hectic morning; time to nap ourselves. And let us not forget the powerful sense of hope that the nap brought us. For even on the days when we were up far too early, and the morning was far too exhausting, and everyone was in far, far too crappy a mood, we could always draw strength from the knowledge that soon, very soon, we'd get a break. The nap would not let us down. Almost never, anyway.
You know, I remember this one time -- this must have been in late '07, maybe early '08 -- that the nap was just so, so -- sorry, I'm getting all emotional just thinking about it. Give me a minute. OK. I'm fine. Ahem. During that nap -- that one, beautiful nap -- I did an hour of power yoga, took a shower, wrote a short story and a blog post, baked a German chocolate cake from scratch, cleaned the house, had an amorous interlude with my husband, did my nails, caught up on all my emails, drilled myself on French irregular verbs, tutored an at-risk youth, organized the attic, changed the litterbox, called my mother, and read an entire issue of The New Yorker cover to cover.
I suppose I might be romanticizing a little in hindsight -- it might actually have been brownies, from a mix, not German chocolate cake. But the point is, the afternoon nap was a truly beautiful thing. It made so many people so happy, just by being there.
But let's look on the bright side. I'm sure the nap, all its beautiful nappy goodness, would have wanted us to. For one thing, there's still Elsa's nap. That nap is hale and hearty -- sometimes lasting for well over two hours -- and shows no sign of leaving us any time soon. And while that nap still lives, we are given the rare and precious gift of one-on-one time with Clio. And, with it, the opportunity to say to ourselves, with self-righteous indignance, "Dear GOD, this is a piece of cake! Next time anyone with one kid starts complaining about how hard they've got it, I'm going to poke my own eyes out! Wah, wah, wah, it's so hard running around after a two-year-old. ONE two-year-old? Are they kidding? Cry me a freakin' RIVER!"
Um...I'm guessing from the looks on your faces that perhaps I've gone too far. I've let my emotions get the better of me. You're right; I'm sorry. I know that parenting isn't ever easy, no matter how many or how few children you have. This is just a difficult time for me, OK? I loved that nap. Truly and deeply.
And you know what's the worst part? A few times, since it left for good, the nap has come back to haunt us. Once last week, when Clio was sick, and another time after she'd been up a bunch of times in the middle of the night. And it was so wonderful, and everything felt good and right again, and cakes got made and litterboxes got cleaned and verbs got conjugated.... And then we had to grieve all over again the next day, and it was that much harder. Nap, if you're out there somewhere, listening to this, I beg you, please: Leave us in peace. We loved you, and always will. But leave us now. We've got to move on. Leave us!! I cast you out, nap! I forsake you!
No, wait, I take that back. I didn't mean it! Forsake forshmake! Come back and see us anytime! I mean, if it's convenient for you. No pressure or anything. But seriously. Come back. Come BAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!

Clio, asleep. January, 2007
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